'I <P ^ 





<p. 







THE UNIFORM EDITION OF 
THE PLAYS OF J. M. BARRIE 



WHAT EVERY 
WOMAN KNOWS 



THE WORKS OF J. M. BARRIE. 
AULD LICHT IDYLLS, BETTER DEAD. 
WHEN A MAN'S SINGLE. 
A WINDOW IN THRUMS, AN EDINBURGH 

ELEVEN. 
THE LITTLE MINISTER. 
SENTIMENTAL TOMMY. 

MY LADY NICOTINE, MARGARET OGILVY. 
TOMMY AND GRIZEL. 
THE LITTLE WHITE BIRD. 
PETER AND WENDY. 
HALF HOURS, DER TAG. 

The above 10 volumes sold separately. Limp 

Leather, Si .75 net each. Cloth, $i .50 net each. 

THE PL A YS OF J. M. BARRIE. 
THE PROFESSOR'S LOVE STORY. 
QUALITY STREET. 
THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON. 
LITTLE MARY. 
ALICE SIT-BY- THE-FDAE. 
WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS. 
A KISS FOR CINDERELLA. 
DEAR BRUTUS. 
PETER PAN. 

THE OLD LADY SHOWS HER MEDALS. 
SEVEN WOMEN. 
THE TWELVE POUND LOOK, ETC. 



SENTIMENTAL TOMMY. 

Illustrated by William Hatherell. 
TOMMY AND GRIZEL. 

Illustrated by Bernard Partridge. 
HALF HOURS. 
MARGARET OGILVY. 

A WINDOW IN THRUMS. Cameo Edition. 
PETER PAN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. 

With 16 Illustrations by Arthur Rackham. 
PETER AND WENDY. 
■ Illustrated by F. D. Bedford. 
DER TAG. 

*** For particulars concerning The Thistle 
Edition of the Works of J. M. Barree, sold only 
by subscription, send for circular. 

NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



THE PLAYS OF 
J. M. BARRIE 



WHAT EVERY 
WOMAN KNOWS 

A COMEDY 



CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

NEW YORK ::::::::: 1918 






Copyright, 1918, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



JUL 30 |'9i8 




James Wylie is about to make a move on the dambrod, 
and in the little Scotch room there is an awful silence 
befitting the occasion. James with his hand poised — 
for if he touches a piece he has to play it, Alick will 
see to that — raises his red head suddenly to read 
Alick 9 s face. His father, who is Alick, is pretending 
to be in a panic lest James should make this move. 
James grins heartlessly, and his fingers are about to 
close on the 'man' when some instinct of self-pre- 
servation makes him peep once more. This time Alick 
is caught: the unholy ecstasy on his face tells as 
plain as porridge that he has been luring James to 
destruction. James glares; and, too late, his opponent 
is a simple old father again. James mops his head, 
sprawls in the manner most conducive to thought in 
the Wylie family, and, protruding his underlip, 
settles down to a reconsideration of the board. Alick 
blows out his cheeks, and a drop of water settles on 
the point of his nose. 

You will find them thus any Saturday night (after 
family worship, which sends the servant to bed); 



2 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

and sometimes the pauses are so long that in the 
end they forget whose move it is. 

It is not the room you would be shown into if you 
were calling socially on Miss TVylie. The drawing- 
room for you, and Miss Wylie in a coloured merino to 
receive you; very likely she would exclaim, ' This is 
a pleasant surprise /' though she has seen you coming 
up the avenue and has just had time to whip the dust- 
cloths off the chairs , and to warn Alick, David and 
James, that they had better not dare come in to see 
you before they have put on a dickey. Nor is this the 
room in which you would dine in solemn grandeur 
if invited to drop in and take pot-luck, which is how 
the Wylies invite, it being a family weakness to pre- 
tend that they sit down in the dining-room daily. 
It is the real living room of the house, where Alick, 
who will never get used to fashionable ways, can take 
off his collar and sit happily in his stocking soles, and 
James at times would do so also; but catch Maggie 
letting him. 

There is one very fine chair, but, heavens, not 
far sitting on; just to give the room a social 
standing in an emergency. It sneers at the other 
chairs with an air of insolent superiority, like a 
haughty bride who has married into the house for 
money. Otherwise the furniture is homely; most of 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 3 

it has come from that smaller house where the Wylies 
began. There is the large and shiny chair which can 
be turned into a bed if you look the other way for a 
moment. James cannot sit on this chair without 
gradually sliding down it till he is lying luxuriously 
on the small of his back, his legs indicating, like the 
hands of a clock, that it is ten past twelve; a position in 
which Maggie shudders to see him receiving company. 

The other chairs are horse-hair, than which nothing 
is more comfortable if there be a good slit down the 
seat. The seats are heavily dented, because all the 
Wylie family sit down with a dump. The draught- 
board is on the edge of a large centre table, which 
also displays four books placed at equal distances 
from each other, one of them a Bible, and another 
the family album. If these were the only books they 
would not justify Maggie in calling this chamber the 
library, her dogged name for it; while David and 
James call it the west-roofft and Mick calls it c the 
room, 9 which is to him the natural name for any apart- 
ment without a bed in it. There is a bookcase of 
pitch pine, which contains six hundred books, with 
glass doors to prevent your getting at them. 

No one does try to get at the books, for the Wylies 
are not a reading family. They like you to gasp when 
you see so much literature gathered together in one 



4 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

prison-house ; 6m£ 2/^?/ 9 ra5 ? ? themselves at the thought 
that there are persons, chiefly clergymen, who, having 
finished one book, coolly begin another. Nevertheless it 
was not all vainglory that made David buy this library: 
it was rather a mighty respect for education, as some- 
thing that he has missed. This same feeling makes 
him take in the Contemporary Review and stand up 
to it like a man. Alick, who also has a respect 
for education, tries to read the Contemporary, jbut 
becomes dispirited, and may be heard muttering over 
its pages, 'No, no use, no use, no, 9 and sometimes 
even 'Oh helV James has no respect for education; 
and Maggie is at present of an open mind. 

They are Wylie and Sons of the local granite quarry, 
in which Alick was throughout his working days a 
mason. It is David who has raised them to this 
position; he climbed up himself step by step (and 
hewed the steps), and drew the others up after him. 
'Wylie Brothers, 9 Alick would have had the firm 
called, but David said No, and James said No, and 
Maggie said No; first honour must be to their father; 
and Alick now likes it on the whole, though he often 
sighs at having to shave every day; and on some 
snell mornings he still creeps from his couch at four 
and even at two (thinking that his mallet and chisel 
are calling him), and begins to pull on his trousers, 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 5 

until the grandeur of them reminds him that he can 
go to bed again. Sometimes he cries a little, because 
there is no more work for him to do for ever and 
ever; and then Maggie gives him a spade {without 
telling David) or David gives him the logs to saw 
{without telling Maggie). 

We have given James a longer time to make his 
move than our kind friends in front will give him, 
but in the meantime something has been happening. 
David has come in, wearing a black coat and his 
Sabbath boots, for he has been to a public meeting. 
David is nigh forty years of age, whiskered like his 
father and brother {Alick's whiskers being worn as 
a sort of cravat round the neck), and he has the too 
brisk manner of one who must arrive anywhere a little 
before any one else. The painter who did the three of 
them for fifteen pounds {you may observe the canvases 
on the walls) has caught this characteristic, perhaps 
accidentally, for David is almost stepping out of his 
frame, as if to hurry off somewhere; while Alick 
and James look as if they were pinned to the wall 
for life. All the six of them, men and pictures, 
however, have a family resemblance, like granite 
blocks from their own quarry. They are as Scotch 
as peat for instance, and they might exchange eyes 
without any neighbour noticing the difference, inquisi- 



6 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

tive little blue eyes that seem to be always totting up 
the price of things. 

The dambrod players pay no attention to David, nor 
does he regard them. Dumping down on the sofa he 
removes his 9 lastic sides, as his Sabbath boots are 
called, by pushing one joot against the other, gets 
into a pair of hand-sewn slippers, deposits the boots 
as according to rule in the ottoman, and crosses to the 
fire. There must be something on David's mind to- 
night, for he pays no attention to the game, neither 
gives advice {than which nothing is more maddening) 
nor exchanges a wink with Alick over the parlous 
condition of James's crown. You can hear the wag- 
at-the-wall clock in the lobby ticking. Then David 
lets himself go; it runs out of him like a hymn: 

david. Oh, let the solid ground 
Not fail beneath my feet, 
Before my life has found 
What some have found so sweet. 
(This is not a soliloquy, but is offered as 
a definite statement. The players emerge 
from their game with difficulty.) 
alick (with james's crown in his hand). 
What 's that you 're saying, David ? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 7 

david (like a public speaker explaining the 
situation in a few well chosen words). The thing 
I 'm speaking about is Love. 

james (keeping control of himself). Do you 
stand there and say you 're in love, David 
Wylie? 

david. Me; what would I do with the 
thing ? 

james (who is by no means without pluck). 
I see no necessity for calling it a thing, 

(They are two bachelors who all their lives 
have been afraid of nothing but Woman. 
david in his sportive days — which con- 
tinue — has done roguish things ivith his 
arm when conducting a lady home under 
an umbrella from a soiree, and has both 
chuckled and been scared on thinking of it 
afterwards, james, a commoner fellow 
altogether, has discussed the sex over a 
glass, but is too canny to be in the com- 
pany of less than two young women at a 
time.) 
david (derisively). Oho, has she got you, 
James ? 



8 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

james (feeling the sting of it) . Nobody has got me. 

david. They '11 catch you yet, lad. 

james. They '11 never catch me. You 've 
been nearer catched yourself. 

alick. Yes, Kitty Menzies, David. 

david (feeling himself under the umbrella). 
It was a kind of a shave that. 

alick (who knows all that is to be known about 
women and can speak of them without a tremor). 
It 's a curious thing, but a man cannot help 
winking when he hears that one of his friends 
has been catched. 

david. That 's so. 

james (clinging to his manhood). And fear of 
that wink is what has kept the two of us single 
men. And yet what 's the glory of being single ? 

david. There 's no particular glory in it, 
but it 's safe. 

james (putting away his aspirations). Yes, 
it 's lonely, but it 's safe. But who did you 
mean the poetry for, then? 

david. For Maggie, of course. 

(You don't know david and james till you 
know how they love their sister maggie.) 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 9 

alick. I thought that. 

david (coming to the second point of his state- 
ment about Love). I saw her reading poetry 
and saying those words over to herself. 

james. She has such a poetical mind. 

david. Love. There 's no doubt as that *s 
what Maggie has set her heart on. And not 
merely love, but one of those grand noble 
loves; for though Maggie is undersized she has 
a passion for romance. 

james (wandering miserably about the room). 
It 's terrible not to be able to give Maggie what 
her heart is set on. 

(The others never pay much attention to 
james, though he is quite a smart figure in 
less important houses.) 

alick (violently). Those idiots of men. 

david. Father, did you tell her who had got 
the minister of Galashiels? 

alick (wagging his head sadly). I had to tell 
her. And then I — I — bought her a sealskin 
muff, and I just slipped it into her hands and 
came away. 

james (illustrating the sense of justice in the 



10 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

Wylie family). Of course, to be fair to the 
man, he never pretended he wanted her. 

david. None of them wants her; that 's 
what depresses her. I was thinking, father, I 
would buy her that gold watch and chain in 
Snibby's window. She hankers after it. 

james (slapping his pocket). You 're too late, 
David; I 've got them for her. 

david. It 's ill done of the minister. Many 
a pound of steak has that man had in this house. 

alick. You mind the slippers she worked 
for him? 

james. I mind them fine; she began them 
for William Cathro. She 's getting on in years, 
too, though she looks so young. 

alick. I never can make up my mind, David, 
whether her curls make her look younger or 
older. 

david {determinedly). Younger. Whisht ! I 
hear her winding the clock. Mind, not a word 
about the minister to her, James. Don't even 
mention religion this day. 

james. Would it be like me to do such a 
thing ? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 11 

david. It would be very like you. And 
there 's that other matter : say not a syllable 
about our having a reason for sitting up late to- 
night. When she says it 's bed-time, just all 
pretend we 're not sleepy. 
alick. Exactly, and when — 

{Here maggie enters, and all three are sud- 
denly engrossed in the dambrod. We could 
describe maggie at great length. But what is 
the use? What you really want to know is 
whether she was good-looking. No, she was 
not Enter maggie, who is not good-looking. 
When this is said, all is said. Enter 
maggie, as it were, with her throat cut 
from ear to ear. She has a soft Scotch voice 
and a more resolute manner than is perhaps 
fitting to her plainness; and she stops short 
at sight of james sprawling unconsciously 
in the company chair.) 
maggie. James, I wouldn't sit on the fine chair. 
james. I forgot again. 

(But he wishes she had spoken more sharply. 
Even profanation of the fine chair has not 
roused her. She takes up her knitting, and 



12 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

they all suspect that she knows what they 
have been talking about.) 

maggie. You 're late, David, it 's nearly 
bed-time. 

david {finding the subject a safe one}. I was 
kept late at the public meeting. 

alick (glad to get so far away from Galashiels). 
Was it a good meeting? 

david. Fairish. (With some heat.) That young 
John Shand would make a speech. 

maggie. John Shand? Is that the student 
Shand? 

david. The same. It 's true he 's a student 
at Glasgow University in the winter months, but 
in summer he 's just the railway porter here; 
and I think it 's very presumptuous of a young 
lad like that to make a speech when he hasn't 
a penny to bless himself with. 

alick. The Shands were always an impu- 
dent family, and jealous. I suppose that 's the 
reason they haven't been on speaking terms with 
us this six years. Was it a good speech ? 

david (illustrating the family's generosity). It 
was very fine; but he needn't have made fun of me. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 13 

maggie {losing a stitch). He dared? 

david {depressed). You see I can not get 
started on a speech without saying things like 
'In rising for to make a few remarks.' 

james. What 's wrong with it ? 

david. He mimicked me, and said 'Will our 
worthy chairman come for to go for to answer 
my questions?' and so on; and they roared. 

james {slaving his money pocket). The 
sacket. 

david. I did feel bitterly, father, the want 
of education. {Without knowing it, he has a 
beautiful way of pronouncing this noble word.) 

maggie {holding out a kind hand to him) . David . 

alick I 've missed it sore, David. Even now 
I feel the want of it in the very marrow of me. 
I 'm shamed to think I never gave you your 
chance. But when you were young I was so 
desperate poor, how could I do it, Maggie ? 

maggie. It wasn't possible, father. 

alick {gazing at the book-shelves). To be able 
to understand these books ! To up with them 
one at a time and scrape them as clean as 
though they were a bowl of brose. Lads, it 's 



14 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

not to riches, it 's to scholarship that I make my 
humble bow. 

james (who is good at bathos). There 's ten 
yards of them. And they were selected by the 
minister of Galashiels. He said — 

david (quickly). James. 

james. I mean — I mean — 

maggie (calmly). I suppose you mean what 
you say, James. I hear, David, that the 
minister of Galashiels is to be married on that 
Miss Turnbull. 

david (on guard). So they were saying. 

alick. All I can say is she has made a poor 
bargain. 

maggie (the damned). I wonder at you, 
father. He 's a very nice gentleman. I 'm 
sure I hope he has chosen wisely. 

james. Not him. 

maggie (getting near her tragedy). How can 
you say that when you don't know her? I 
expect she is full of charm. 

alick. Charm? It 's the very word he used. 

david. Havering idiot. 

alick. What is charm, exactly, Maggie? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 15 

maggie. Oh, it 's — it 's a sort of bloom on a 
woman. If you have it, you don't need to have 
anything else; and if you don't have it, it 
doesn't much matter what else you have. 
Some women, the few, have charm for all; and 
most have charm for one. But some have 
charm for none. 

(Somehow she has stopped knitting. Her 
men -folk are very depressed, james 
brings his fist down on the table with a 
bang.) 
james (shouting). I have a sister that has 
charm. 
maggie. No, James, you haven't. 
james (rushing at her with the watch and chain). 
Ha'e, Maggie. 

(She lets them lie, in her lap.) 
david. Maggie, would you like a silk? 
maggie. What could I do with a silk ? (With 
a gust of passion.) You might as well dress up 
a little brown hen. 

(They wriggle miserably.) 

james (stamping). Bring him here to me. 

maggie. Bring whom, James? 



16 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

james. David, I would be obliged if you 
wouldn't kick me beneath the table. 

maggie (rising). Let 's be practical; let 's go 
to our beds. 

(This reminds them that they have a job on 
hand in which she is not to share.) 

david (slily). I don't feel very sleepy 
yet. 

alick. Nor me either. 

james. You 've just taken the very words 
out of my mouth. 

david (with unusual politeness). Good-night 
to you, Maggie. 

maggie (fixing the three of them). All of you 
unsleepy, when, as is well known, ten o'clock 
is your regular bed-time? 

james. Yes, it 's common knowledge that 
we go to our beds at ten. (Chuckling.) That 's 
what we 're counting on. 

maggie. Counting on ? 

david. You stupid whelp. 

james. What have I done? 

maggie (folding her arms). There's some- 
thing up. You 've got to tell me, David. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 17 

david (who knows when he is beaten). Go out 
and watch, James. 

maggie. Watch ? 

(james takes himself off , armed, as maggie 
notices, with a stick.) 

david (in his alert business way). Maggie, 
there are burglars about. 

maggie. Burglars? (She sits rigid, but she 
is not the kind to scream.) 

david. We hadn't meant for to tell you till 
we nabbed them; but they Ve been in this room 
twice of late. We sat up last night waiting for 
them, and we 're to sit up again to-night. 

maggie. The silver plate. 

david. It 's all safe as yet. That makes us 
think that they were either frightened away 
these other times, or that they are coming back 
for to make a clean sweep. 

maggie. How did you get to know about this ? 

david. It was on Tuesday that the polissman 
called at the quarry with a very queer story. 
He had seen a man climbing out at this window 
at ten past two. 

maggie. Did he chase him? 



18 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

david. It was so dark he lost sight of him at 
once. 

alick. Tell her about the window. 

david. We 've found out that the catch 
of the window has been pushed back by 
slipping the blade of a knife between the wood- 
work. 

maggie. David. 

alick. The polissman said he was carrying 
a little carpet bag. 

maggie. The silver plate is gone. 

david. No, no. We were thinking that very 
likely he has bunches of keys in the bag. 

maggie. Or weapons. 

david. As for that, we have some pretty 
stout weapons ourselves in the umbrella stand. 
So, if you '11 go to your bed, Maggie — 

maggie. Me ? and my brothers in danger. 

alick. There 's just one of them. 

maggie. The polissman just saw one. 

david (licking his palms). I would be very 
pleased if there were three of them. 

maggie. I watch with you. I would be very 
pleased if there were four of them. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 19 

david. And they say she has no charm ! 
(james returns on tiptoe as if the burglars 
were beneath the table. He signs to every 
one to breathe no more, and then whispers 
his news.) 
james. He 's there. I had no sooner gone 
out than I saw him sliding down the garden 
wall, close to the rhubarbs. 
alick. What' s he like ? 
james. He 's an ugly customer. That 's all 
I could see. There was a little carpet bag in his 
hand. 

david. That 's him. 

james. He slunk into the rhodydendrons, 
and he 's there now, watching the window. 
davdd. We have him. Out with the light. 
(The room is, beautified by a chandelier 
fitted for three gas jets, but with the advance 
of progress one of these has been removed 
and the incandescent light put in its place. 
This alone is lit. alick climbs a chair, 
pulls a little chain, and the room is now 
but vaguely lit by the fire. It plays fit- 
fully on four sparkling faces.) 



20 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie. Do you think he saw you, James? 

james. I couldn't say, but in any case I was 

too clever for him. I looked up at the stars, 

and yawned loud at them as if I was tremendous 

sleepy. 

(There is a long 'pause during which they 
are lurking in the shadows. At last 
they hear some movement, and they 
steal like ghosts from the room. We see 
david turning out the lobby light; then 
the door closes and an empty room awaits 
the intruder with a shudder of expectancy. 
The window opens and shuts as softly as if 
this were a mother peering in to see whether 
her baby is asleep. Then the head of a 
man shows between the curtains. The re- 
mainder of him follows. He is carrying a 
little carpet bag. He stands irresolute; what 
puzzles him evidently is that the Wylies 
should have retired to rest without lifting 
that piece of coal off the fire. He opens the 
door and peeps into the lobby, listening to the 
wag-at-the-wall clock. All seems serene, and 
he turns on the light. We see him clearly 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 21 

now. He is john shand, age twenty-one, 
boots muddy, as an indignant carpet can 
testify. He wears a shabby topcoat and a 
cockerty bonnet; otherwise he is in the well- 
worn corduroys of a railway porter. His 
movements, at first stealthy, become almost 
homely as he feels that he is secure. He 
opens the bag and takes out a bunch of 
keys, a small paper parcel, and a black 
implement that may be a burglar's jemmy. 
This cool customer examines the fire and 
piles on more coals. With the keys he 
opens the door of the bookcase, selects two 
large volumes, and brings them to the table. 
He takes off his topcoat and opens his 
parcel, which we now see contains sheets 
of foolscap paper. » His next action shows 
that the * jemmy 9 is really a ruler. He 
knows where the pen and ink are kept. He 
pulls the fine chair nearer to the table, sits 
on it, and proceeds to write, occasionally 
dotting the carpet with ink as he stabs the 
air with his pen. He is so occupied that 
he does not see the door opening, and the 



22 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

Wylie family staring at him. They are 
armed with sticks.) 

alick {at last). When you 're ready, John 
Shand. 

(john hints hack, and then has the grace to 
rise, dogged and expressionless.) 

james (like a railway porter). Ticket, please. 

david. You can't think of anything clever 
for to go for to say now, John. 

maggie. I hope you find that chair comfort- 
able, young man. 

john. I have no complaint to make against 
the chair. 

alick (who is really distressed). A native of 
the town. The disgrace to your family. I feel 
pity for the Shands this night. 

john (glowering). I '11 thank you, Mr. Wylie, 
not to pity my family. 

james. Canny, canny. 

maggie (that sense of justice again). I think 
you should let the young man explain. It mayn't 
be so bad as we thought. 

david. Explain away, my billie. 

john. Only the uneducated would need an 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 23 

explanation. I'ma student, (with a little passion) 
and I 'in desperate for want of books. You have 
all I want here; no use to you but for display; 
well, I came here to study. I come twice 
weekly. (Amazement of his hosts.) 

david (who is the first to recover). By the 
window. 

john. Do you think a Shand would so far 
lower himself as to enter your door? Well, is 
it a case for the police? 

james. It is. 

maggie (not so much out of the goodness 
of her heart as to patronise the Shands). It 
seems to me it 's a case for us all to go 
to our beds and leave the young man 
to study; but not on that chair. (And she 
wheels the chair away from him.) 

john. Thank you, Miss Maggie, but I 
couldn't be beholden to you. 

james. My opinion is that he 's nobody, so 
out with him. 

john. Yes, out with me. And you '11 be 
cheered to hear I 'm likely to be a nobody for 
a long time to come. 



24 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

david {who had been beginning to respect him). 
Are you a poor scholar ? 

john. On the contrary, I 'm a brilliant 
scholar. 

david. It 's siller, then ? 

john {glorified by experiences he has shared 
with many a gallant soul). My first year at 
college I lived on a barrel of potatoes, and we 
had just a sofa-bed between two of us; when 
the one lay down the other had to get up. Do 
you think it was hardship? It was sublime. 
But this year I can't afford it. I '11 have 
to stay on here, collecting the tickets of the 
illiterate, such as you, when I might be with 
Romulus and Remus among the stars. 

james {summing up). Havers. 

david {in whose head some design is vaguely 
taking shape). Whisht, James. I must say, 
young lad, I like your spirit. Now tell me, 
what 's your professors' opinion of your future. 

john. They think me a young man of extra- 
ordinary promise. 

david. You have a name here for high moral 
character. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 25 

john. And justly. 

david. Are you serious-minded? 

john. I never laughed in my life. 

david. Who do you sit under in Glasgow ? 

john. Mr. Flemister of the Sauchiehall High. 

david. Are you a Sabbath-school teacher? 

john. I am. 

david. One more question. Are you 
promised ? 

john. To a lady ? 

david. Yes. 

john. I Ve never given one of them a single 
word of encouragement. I 'm too much occu- 
pied thinking about my career. 

david. So. (He reflects, and finally indicates 
by a jerk of the head that he wishes to talk with 
his father behind the doqr.) 

james (longingly). Do you want me too? 
(But they go out without even answering 
him.) 

maggie. I don't know what maggot they 
have in their heads, but sit down, young man, 
till they come back. 

john. My name 's Mr. Shand, and till I 'm 



26 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

called that I decline to sit down again in this 

house. 

maggie. Then I 'm thinking, young sir, 

you '11 have a weary wait. 

(While he waits you can see how pinched 
his face is. He is little more than a boy, 
and he seldom has enough to eat. david 
and alick return presently, looking as sly 
as if they had been discussing some move 
on the dambrod, as indeed they have.) 
david (suddenly become genial). Sit down, 

Mr. Shand, and pull in your chair. You '11 have 

a thimbleful of something to keep the cold out? 

(Briskly.) Glasses, Maggie. 

(She wonders, but gets glasses and decanter 
from the sideboard, which james calls the 
chiffy. david and alick, in the most 
friendly manner, also draw up to the 
table.) 

You 're not a totaller, I hope? 

john (guardedly). I 'm practically a 

totaller. 

david. So are we. How do you take it? 

Is there any hot water, Maggie? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 27 

john. If I take it at all, and I haven't made 
up my mind yet, I '11 take it cold. 

david. You '11 take it hot, James ? 

james (also sitting at the table but completely 
befogged). No, I — 

david (decisively). I think you '11 take it hot, 
James. 

james (sulking). I '11 take it hot. 

david. The kettle, Maggie. 

(james has evidently to take it hot so that 
they can get at the business now on hand, 
while maggie goes kitchenward for the 
kettle.) 

alick. Now, David, quick, before she comes 
back. 

david. Mr. Shand, we have an offer to make 
you. 

john (warningly). No patronage. 

alick. It 's strictly a business affair. 

david. Leave it to me, father. It 's 
this — (But to his annoyance the suspicious 
maggie has already returned with the kettle.) 
Maggie, don't you see that you 're not 
wanted ? 



28 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie (sitting down by the fire and resuming 
her knitting). I do, David. 

david. I have a proposition to put before 
Mr. Shand, and women are out of place in 
business transactions. 

(The needles continue to click.) 

alick (sighing). We '11 have to let her bide, 
David. 

david (sternly). Woman. (But even this 
does not budge her.) Very well then, sit there, 
but don't interfere, mind. Mr. Shand, we 're 
willing, the three of us, to lay out £300 on your 
education if — 

john. Take care — 

david (slowly, which is not his wont). On 
condition that five years from now, Maggie 
Wylie, if still unmarried, can claim to marry 
you, should such be her wish; the thing to 
be perfectly open on her side, but you to be 
strictly tied down. 

james (enlightened). So, so. 

david (resuming his smart manner). Now, 
what have you to say ? Decide. 

john (after a pause). I regret to say — 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 29 

maggie. It doesn't matter what he regrets to 
say, because I decide against it. And I think 
it was very ill-done of you to make any such 
proposal. 

david (without looking at her). Quiet, Maggie. 

john (looking at her). I must say, Miss 
Maggie, I don't see what reasons you can 
have for being so set against it. 

maggie. If you would grow a beard, Mr. 
Shand, the reasons wouldn't be quite so obvious. 

john. I '11 never grow a beard. 

maggie. Then you 're done for at the start. 

alick. Come, come. 

maggie. Seeing I have refused the young 
man — 

john. Refused ! 

david. That 's no reason why we shouldn't 
have his friendly opinion. Your objections, 
Mr. Shand? 

john. Simply, it 's a one-sided bargain. I 
admit I 'm no catch at present; but what could 
a man of my abilities not soar to with three 
hundred pounds? Something far above what 
she could aspire to. 



30 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

Maggie. Oh, indeed. 

david. The position is that without the 
three hundred you can't soar. 

john. You have me there. 

maggie. Yes, but — 

alick. You see you 9 re safe-guarded, Maggie; 
you don't need to take him unless you like, 
but he has to take you. 

john. That 's an unfair arrangement also. 

maggie. I wouldn't dream of it without that 
condition. 

john. Then you are thinking of it? 

MAGGIE. Poof. 

david. It 's a good arrangement for you, Mr. 
Shand. The chances are you '11 never have to 
go on with it, for in all probability she '11 marry 
soon. 

james. She 9 s tremendous run after. 

john. Even if that 's true, it 's just keeping 
me in reserve in case she misses doing better. 

david (relieved). That 's the situation in a 
nutshell. 

john. Another thing. Supposing I was to 
get fond of her? 






WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 31 

alick {wistfully). It 's very likely. 

john. Yes, and then suppose she was to 
give me the go-by ? 

david. You have to risk that. 

john. Or take it the other way. Supposing 
as I got to know her I could not endure her? 

david {suavely). You have both to take risks. 

james {less suavely). What you need, John 
Shand, is a clout on the head. 

john. Three hundred pounds is no great sum. 

david. You can take it or leave it. 

alick. No great sum for a student studying 
for the ministry ! 

john. Do you think that with that amount 
of money I would stop short at being a minister ? 

david. That 's how I like to hear you speak. 
A young Scotsman of your ability let loose 
upon the world with £300, what could he 
not do? It's almost appalling to think of; 
especially if he went among the English. 

john. What do you think, Miss Maggie? 

maggie {who is knitting). I have no thoughts 
on the subject either way. 

john {after looking her over). What's her 



32 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

age ? She looks young, but they say it 's the 
curls that does it. 

david (rather happily). She 's one of those 
women who are eternally young. 

john. I can't take that for an answer. 

david. She 's twenty-five. 

john. I 'm just twenty-one. 

james. I read in a book that about four 
years' difference in the ages is the ideal 
thing. (As usual he is disregarded.) 

david. Well, Mr. Shand? 

john (where is his mother!) I 'm willing if 
she 's willing. 

david. Maggie ? 

maggie. There can be no 'if about it. It 
must be an offer. 

john. A Shand give a Wylie such a chance 
to humiliate him? Never. 

maggie. Then all is off. 

david. Come, come, Mr. Shand, it 's just 
a form. 

john (reluctantly). Miss Maggie, will you? 

maggie (doggedly). Is it an offer? 

john (dourly). Yes. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 33 

maggie (rising). Before I answer I want 
first to give you a chance of drawing back. 

david. Maggie. 

maggie (bravely). When they said that I have 
been run after they were misleading you. I 'm 
without charm; nobody has ever been after me. 

JOHN. Oho ! 

alick. They will be yet. 

john (the innocent). It shows at least that 
you haven't been after them. 

(Hishosts exchange a self-conscious glance.) 

maggie. One thing more; David said I 'm 
twenty-five, I 'm twenty-six. 

john. Aha ! 

maggie. Now be practical. Do you with- 
draw from the bargain, or do you not ? 

john (on reflection). It 's a bargain. 

maggie. Then so be it. 

david (hurriedly). And that 's settled. Did 
you say you would take it hot, Mr. Shand? 

john. I think I '11 take it neat. 

(The others decide to take it hot, and there 
is some careful business here with the toddy 
ladles.) 



34 WHAT EVERY, WOMAN KNOWS 

alick. Here 's to you, and your career. 

john. Thank you. To you, Miss Maggie. 
Had we not better draw up a legal docu- 
ment? Lawyer Crosbie could do it on the 
quiet. 

david. Should we do that, or should we just 
trust to one another's honour? 

alick {gallantly). Let Maggie decide. 

maggie. I think we would better have a 
legal document. 

david. We '11 have it drawn up to-morrow. 
I was thinking the best way would be for to 
pay the money in five yearly instalments. 

John. I was thinking, better bank the whole 
sum in my name at once. 

alick. I think David's plan 's the best. 

john. I think not. Of course if it 's not 
convenient to you — 

david (touched to the quick). It 's perfectly 
convenient. What do you say, Maggie? 

maggie. I agree with John. 

david (with an odd feeling that Maggie is now 
on the other side). Very well. 

john. Then as that 's settled I think I '11 be 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 35 

stepping. (He is putting his papers bach in 
the bag,) 

alick (politely). If you would like to sit on 
at your books — 

john. As I can come at any orra time now 
I think I '11 be stepping, (maggie helps him 
into his topcoat.) 

maggie. Have you a muffler, John ? 

john. I have. (He gets it from his pocket.) 

maggie. You had better put it twice round. 
(She does this for him.) 

david. Well good-night to you, Mr. Shand. 

alick. And good luck. 

john. Thank you. The same to you. And 
I '11 cry in at your office in the morning before 
the 6.20 is due. 

david. I '11 have the document ready for 
you. (There is the awkward pause that some- 
times follows great events.) I think, Maggie, you 
might see Mr. Shand to the door. 

maggie. Certainly, (john is going by the 
window.) This way, John. 

(She takes him off by the more usual exit.) 

david. He 's a fine frank fellow; and you 



36 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

saw how cleverly he got the better of me about 
banking the money. (As the heads of the con- 
spirators come gleefully together.) I tell you, 
father, he has a grand business head. 

alick. Lads, he 's canny. He 's cannier 
than any of us. 

james. Except maybe Maggie. He has no 
idea what a remarkable woman Maggie is. 

alick. Best he shouldn't know. Men are 
nervous of remarkable women. 

james. She 's a long time in coming back. 

david (not quite comfortable). It 's a good 
sign. H'sh. What sort of a night is it, 
Maggie ? 

maggie. It 's a little blowy. 

(She gets a large dust-cloth which is lying 
folded on a shelf, and proceeds to spread 
it over the fine chair. The men exchange 
self-conscious glances.) 

david (stretching himself). Yes — well, well, 
oh yes. It 's getting late. What is it with 
you, father? 

alick. I 'm ten forty-two. 

jAMii, I 'm im forty. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 37 

david. Ten forty-two. 

{They wind up their watches.) 
Maggie. It 's high time we were bedded. 
(She puts her hands on their shoulders lovingly, 
which is the very thing they have been trying to 
avoid.) You 're very kind to me. 
david. Havers. 
auck. Havers. 

james (but this does not matter). Havers. 
maggie (a little dolefully). I 'm a sort of 
sorry for the young man, David. 

david. Not at all. You '11 be the making 
of him. (She lifts the two volumes.) Are you 
taking the books to your bed, Maggie? 

maggie. Yes. I don't want him to know 
things I don't know myself. 

(She departs with the boohs; and auck 

and david, the villains, now want to get 

away from each other.) 

auck. Yes — yes. Oh yes — ay, man — it is 

so — umpha. You '11 lift the big coals off, 

David. 

(He wanders away to his spring mattress. 
david removes the coals,) 



38 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

james (who would like to sit down and have 
an argy-bargy). It 's a most romantical affair. 
(But he gets no answer.) I wonder how it '11 turn 
out ? (No answer.) She 's queer, Maggie. I 
wonder how some clever writer has never noticed 
how queer women are. It 's my belief you could 
write a whole book about them, (david re- 
mains obdurate.) It was very noble of her 
to tell him she 's twenty-six. (Muttering as 
he too wanders away.) But I thought she was 
twenty-seven. 

(david turns out the light.) 



II 



Six years have elapsed and John Shand' s great hour 
has come. Perhaps his great hour really lies ahead 
of him, perhaps he had it six years ago ; it often 
passes us by in the night with such a faint call that 
we don't even turn in our beds. But according to 
the trumpets this is John's great hour ; it is the hour 
for which he has long been working with his coat off; 
and now the coat is on again (broadcloth but ill- 
fitting), for there is no more to do but await results. 
He is standing for Parliament, and this is election 
night. 

As the scene discloses itself you get, so to speak, one 
of John Shand' s posters in the face. Vote for Shand. 
Shand, Shand, Shand. Civil and Religious Liberty, 
Faith, Hope, Freedom. They are all fly-blown names 
for Shand. Have a placard about Shand, have a 
hundred placards about him, it is snowing Shand to- 
night in Glasgow ; take the paste out of your eye, and 
you will see that we are in one of Shand' s committee 
rooms. It has been a hairdresser's emporium, but 
Shand, Shand, Shand has swept through it like a 



40 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

wind, leaving nothing but the fixtures ; why shave, 
why have your head doused in those basins when you 
can be brushed and scraped and washed up for ever 
by simply voting for Shand ? 

There are a few hard chairs for yelling Shand 
from, and then rushing away. There is an iron 
spiral staircase that once led to the ladies 9 hair- 
dressing apartments, but now leads to more Shand, 
Shand, Shand. A glass door at the bach opens 
on to the shop proper, screaming Civil and Re- 
ligious Liberty, Shand, as it opens, and beyond is 
the street crammed with still more Shand pro and con. 
Men in every sort of garb rush in and out, up and 
down the stair, shouting the magic word. Then there 
is a lull, and down the stair comes Maggie Wylie, 
decidedly over-dressed in blue velvet and (let us get 
this over) less good-looking than ever. She raises 
her hands to heaven, she spins round like a little 
teetotum. To her from the street, suffering from 
a determination of the word Shand to the mouth, 
rush Alick and David. Alick is thinner (being older), 
David is stouter (being older), and they are both in 
tweeds and silk hats. 

maggie. David — have they — is he? quick, 
quick! 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 41 

david. There 's no news yet, no news. It 's 
terrible. 

(The teetotum revolves more quickly.) 
alick. For God's sake, Maggie, sit down. 
maggie. I can't, I can't. 
david. Hold her down. 

(They press her into a chair; james darts 

in, stouter also. His necktie has gone; he 

will never again be able to attend a funeral 

in that hat.) 

james (wildly). John Shand's the man for 

you. John Shand 's the man for you. John 

Shand 's the man for you. 

david (clutching him). Have you heard any- 
thing ? 
james. Not a word. 
alick. Look at her.. 

david. Maggie (he goes on his knees beside 
her, pressing her to him in affectionate anxiety). 
It was mad of him to dare. 
maggie. It was grand of him. 
alick (moving about distraught). Insane 
ambition. 
maggie. Glorious ambition. 



42 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KMOWS 



KMp' 



david. Maggie, Maggie, my lamb, best be 
prepared for the worst. 

maggie (husky). I am prepared. 
alick. Six weary years has she waited for 
this night. 

maggie. Six brave years has John toiled 
for this night. 

james. And you could have had him, 
Maggie, at the end of five. The document says 
five. 

maggie. Do you think I grudge not being 
married to him yet? Was I to hamper him 
till the fight was won. 

david (with wrinkled brows). But if it 's lost? 

(She can't answer.) 
alick (starting) . What 's that ? 

(The three listen at the door; the shouting 
dies down.) 
david. They 're terrible still; what can 
make them so still? 

(james spirits himself away, alick and 
david blanch to hear maggie speaking 
softly as if to john.) 
maggie. Did you say you had lost, John? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 43 

Of course you would lose the first time, dear 
John. Six years. Very well, we '11 begin 
another six to-night. You '11 win yet. {Fiercely.) 
Never give in, John, never give in ! 

{The roar of the multitude breaks out again 
and comes rolling nearer.) 
David. I think he 's coming. 

(james is fired into the room like a squeezed 
onion.) 
james. He 's coming ! 

{They may go on speaking, but through the 
clang outside none could hear. The popu- 
lace seem to be trying to take the committee 
room by assault. Out of the scrimmage a 
man emerges dishevelled and bursts into 
the room, closing the door behind him. It is 
john shand in a* five guinea suit, includ- 
ing the hat. There are other changes in him 
also, for he has been delving his way through 
loamy ground all those years. His right 
shoulder, which he used to raise to pound a 
path through the crowd, now remains per- 
manently in that position. His mouth tends 
to close like a box. His eyes are tired, they 



44 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

need some one to pull the lids over them and 
send him to sleep for a week. But they are 
honest eyes still, and faithful, and could 
even light up his face at times with a 
smile, if the mouth would give a little help. 
john {clinging to a chair that he may not fly 

straight to heaven). I 'm in; I 'm elected. 

Majority two hundred and forty-four; I 'm 

John Shand, M .P. 

{The crowd have the news by this time and 
their roar breaks the door open, james 
is off at once to tell them that he is to be 
Shand' s brother-in-law. A teardrop clings 
to alick's nose; david hits out playfully 
at john, and john in an ecstasy returns 
the blow.) 
david. Fling yourself at the door, father, 

and bar them out. Maggie, what keeps you 

so quiet now? 

maggie {weak in her limbs). You 're sure 

you 're in, John. 

john. Majority 244. I 've beaten the baronet. 

I 've done it, Maggie, and not a soul to help 

me; I 've done it alone. {His voice breaks; you 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 45 

could almost pick up the pieces.) I 'm as hoarse 
as a crow, and I have to address the Cowcaddens 
Club yet; David, pump some oxygen into me. 

david. Certainly, Mr. Shand. (While he 
does it, maggie is seeing visions.) 

alick. What are you doing, Maggie ? 

maggie. This is the House of Commons, and 
I 'm John, catching the Speaker's eye for the 
first time. Do you see a queer little old wifie 
sitting away up there in the Ladies' Gallery? 
That 's me. Mr. Speaker, sir, I rise to make 
my historic maiden speech. I am no orator, 
sir; voice from Ladies' Gallery, 'Are you not, 
John? you '11 soon let them see that'; cries of 
'Silence, woman,' and general indignation. Mr. 
Speaker, sir, I stand here diffidently with my 
eyes on the Treasury Bench; voice from the 
Ladies' Gallery, 'And you '11 soon have your 
coat-tails on it, John'; loud cries of 'Remove 
that little old wifie,' in which she is forcibly 
ejected, and the honourable gentleman resumes 
his seat in a torrent of admiring applause. 

(alick and david waggle their proud 
heads.) 



46 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

john (tolerantly). Maggie, Maggie. 

maggie. You 're not angry with me, John ? 

john. No, no. 

maggie. But you glowered. 

john. I was thinking of Sir Peregrine. 
Just because I beat him at the poll he took 
a shabby revenge; he congratulated me in 
French, a language I haven't taken the trouble 
to master. 

maggie (becoming a little taller). Would it 
help you, John, if you were to marry a woman 
that could speak French? 

david (quickly). Not at all. 

maggie (gloriously). Mon cher Jean, laissez- 
moi parler le frangais, voulez-vous un interprete ? 

john. Hullo ! 

maggie. Je suis la sceur frangaise de mes 
deux freres ecossais. 

david (worshipping her). She 's been learning 
French. 

john (lightly). Well done. 

maggie (grandly). They 're arriving. 

ALICE. Who ? 

maggie. Our guests. This is London, and 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 47 

Mrs. John Shand is giving her first reception. 
{Airily). Have I told you, darling, who are 
coming to-night ? There 's that dear Sir Pere- 
grine. {To alick.) Sir Peregrine, this is a 
pleasure. Avez-vous. ... So sorry we beat 
you at the poll. 

john. I 'm doubting the baronet would sit 
on you, Maggie. 

maggie. I 've invited a lord to sit on the 
baronet. Voilal 

david {delighted). You thing! You'll find 
the lords expensive. 

maggie. Just a little cheap lord, (james 
enters importantly.) My dear Lord Cheap, this 
is kind of you. 

(james hopes that Maggie's reason is not 
unbalanced.) 

david {who really ought to have had education). 
How de doo, Cheap ? 

james (bewildered). Maggie — 

maggie. Yes, do call me Maggie. 

alick {grinning). She 's practising her 
first party, James. The swells are at the 
door. 



48 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

james {heavily). That 's what I came to say. 
They are at the door. 

JOHN. Who ? 

james. The swells; a carriage and pair. 
(He gives john three cards.) 

john. 'Mr. Tenterden.' 

david. Him that was speaking for you ? 

john. The same. He 's a whip and 
an Honourable. 'Lady Sybil Tenterden.' 
(Frowns.) Her ! She's his sister. 

maggie. A married woman? 

john. No. 'The Comtesse de la Briere.' 

maggie (the scholar). She must be French. 

john. Yes; I think she 's some relation. 
She 's a widow. 

james. But what am I to say to them? 
('Mr. Shand's compliments, and he will be proud 
to receive them 9 is the very least that the 
Wylies expect.) 

john (who was evidently made for great ends). 
Say I 'm very busy, but if they care to wait 
I hope presently to give them a few minutes. 

james (thunderstruck). Good God, Mr. Shand ! 
(But it makes him John's more humble 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 49 

servant than ever, and he departs with 
the message.) 

john (not unaware of the sensation he has 
created). I '11 go up and let the crowd see me 
from the window. 

maggie. But — but — what are we to do with 
these ladies ? 

john (as he tramps upwards). It 's your 
reception, Maggie; this will prove you. 

maggie (growing smaller). Tell me what you 
know about this Lady Sybil ? 

john. The only thing I know about her is 
that she thinks me vulgar. 

maggie. You ? 

john. She has attended some of my meetings, 
and I 'm told she said that. 

maggie. What could the woman mean? 

john. I wonder. W^hen I come down I '11 
ask her. 

(With his departure Maggie's nervousness 
increases.) 

alick (encouragingly). In at them, Maggie, 
with your French. 

maggie. It 's all slipping from me, father. 



50 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

david {gloomily), I 'm sure to say 'for to 
come for to go.' 

{The new-comers glorify the room, and 
maggie feels that they have lifted her up 
with the tongs and deposited her in one 
of the basins. They are far from intending 
to be rude; it is not their fault that thus 
do swans scatter the ducks. They do not 
know that they are guests of the family, 
they think merely that they are waiting 
with other strangers in a public room; 
they undulate enquiringly, and if maggie 
could undulate in return she woidd have 
no cause for offence. But she suddenly 
realises that this is an art as yet denied 
her, and that though david might buy 
her evening gowns as fine as theirs {and 
is at this moment probably deciding to do 
so), she would look better carrying them in 
her arms than on her person. She also feels 
that to emerge from wraps as they are doing 
is more difficult than to plank your money 
on the counter for them. The comtesse 
she could forgive, for she is old; but lady 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 51 

sybil is young and beautiful and comes 

lazily to rest like a stately ship of Tarsus.) 

comtesse {smiling divinely, and speaking with 

such a pretty accent). I hope one is not in the 

way. We were told we might wait. 

maggie (bravely climbing out of the basin). 
Certainly — I am sure — if you will be so — it is — 
(She knows that david and her father are 
very sorry for her.) 

(A high voice is heard orating outside.) 
sybil (screwing her nose deliciously) . He is 
at it again, Auntie. 

comtesse. Mon Dieu! (Like one begging 
pardon of the universe.) It is Mr. Tenterden, 
you understand, making one more of his 
delightful speeches to the crowd. Would you 
be so charming as to shut the door? 

(This to david in such appeal that she is 

evidently making the petition of her life. 

david saves her.) 

maggie (determined not to go under). J'espere 

que vous — trouvez — cette — reunion — inte- 

ressante ? 

comtesse. Vous parlez frangais ? Mais c'est 



52 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

charmant ! Voyons, causons un peu. Racontez- 
moi tout de ce grand homme, toutes les choses 
merveilleuses qu'il a faites. 

maggie. I — I — Je connais — (Alas!) 

comtesse (naughtily). Forgive me, Made- 
moiselle, I thought you spoke French. 

sybil (who knows that david admires her 
shoulders). How wicked of you, Auntie. (To 
maggie.) I assure you none of us can under- 
stand her when she gallops at that pace. 

maggie (crushed). It doesn't matter. I will 
tell Mr. Shand that you are here. 

sybil (drawling). Please don't trouble him. 
We are really only waiting till my brother re- 
covers and can take us back to our hotel. 

maggie. I '11 tell him. 

(She is glad to disappear up the stair.) 

comtesse. The lady seems distressed. Is 
she a relation of Mr. Shand? 

david. Not for to say a relation. She 's my 
sister. Our name is Wylie. 

(But granite quarries are nothing to them.) 

comtesse. How do you do. You are the 
committee man of Mr. Shand? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 53 

david. No, just friends. 
comtesse {gaily to the basins) . Aha ! I know 
you. Next, please ! Sybil, do you weigh your- 
self, or are you asleep ? 

(lady sybil has sunk indolently into a 
weighing -chair.) 
sybil. Not quite, Auntie. 
comtesse (the mirror of la politesse). Tell 
me all about Mr. Shand. Was it here that he — 
picked up the pin? 
david. The pin ? 

comtesse. As I have read, a self-made man 
always begins by picking up a pin. After that, 
as the memoirs say, his rise was rapid. 

(david, however, is once more master of 
himself, and indeed has begun to tot up 
the cost of their garments.) 
david. It wasn't a pin he picked up, my 
lady; it was £300. 

alick (who feels that John's greatness has been 
outside the conversation quite long enough). And 
his rise wasn't so rapid, just at first, David ! 

david. He had his fight. His original in- 
tention was to become a minister; he 's univer- 



54 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

sity-educated, you know; he 's not a working- 
man member. 

alick {with reverence). He 's an M.A. But 
while he was a student he got a place in an iron 
cementer's business. 

comtesse {now far out of her depths). Iron 
cementer ? 

david. They scrape boilers. 

comtesse. I see. The fun men have, Sybil ! 

david {with some solemnity) . There have been 
millions made in scraping boilers. They say, 
father, he went into business so as to be able 
to pay off the £300. 

alick {slily). So I 've heard. 

comtesse. Aha — it was a loan ? 

(david and alick are astride their great 
subject now.) 

david. No, a gift — of a sort — from some 
well-wishers. But they wouldn't hear of his 
paying it off, father ! 

alick. Not them ! 

comtesse {restraining an impulse to think of 
other things). That was kind, charming. 

alick {with a look at david). Yes. Well, 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 55 

my lady, he developed a perfect genius for the 
iron-cementing. 

david. But his ambition ^wasn't _ satisfied. 
Soon he had public life in his eye. As a heckler 
he was something fearsome; they had to seat 
him on the platform for to keep him quiet. Next 
they had to let him into the Chair. After that he 
did all the speaking; he cleared all roads before 
him like a fire-engine; and when this vacancy 
occurred, you could hardly say it did occur, so 
quickly did he step into it. My lady, there are 
few more impressive sights in the world than a 
Scotsman on the make. 

comtesse. I can well believe it. And now he 
has said farewell to boilers? 

david (impressively). Not at all; the firm 
promised if he was elected for to make him 
their London manager at £800 a year. 

comtesse. There is a strong man for you, 
Sybil; but I believe you are asleep. 

sybil (stirring herself). Honestly I 'm not. 
(Sweetly to the others.) But would you mind 
finding out whether my brother is drawing to a 
close ? 



56 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

(david goes out, leaving poor alick 
marooned. The comtesse is kind to 
him.) 

comtesse. Thank you very much. (Which 
helps alick out.) Don't you love a strong man, 
sleepy head ? 

sybil (preening herself). I never met one. 

comtesse. Neither have I. But if you did 
meet one, would he wake you up ? 

sybil. I dare say he would find there were 
two of us. 

comtesse (considering her). Yes, I think 
he would. Ever been in love, you cold 
thing ? 

sybil (yawning). I have never shot up in 
flame, Auntie. 

comtesse. Think you could manage it? 

sybil. If Mr. Right came along. 

comtesse. As a girl of to-day it would be 
your duty to tame him. 

sybil. As a girl of to-day I would try to do 
my duty. 

comtesse. And if it turned out that he 
tamed you instead? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 57 

sybil. He would have to do that if he were 
my Mr. Right. 

comtesse. And then ? 

sybil. Then, of course, I should adore him. 
Auntie, I think if I ever really love it will be 
like Mary Queen of Scots, who said of her Both- 
well that she could follow him round the work! 
in her nighty. 

comtesse. My petite ! 

sybil. I believe I mean it. 

comtesse. Oh, it is quite my conception of 
your character. Do you know, I am rather 
sorry for this Mr. John Shand. 

sybil {opening her fine eyes). Why? He is 
quite a boor, is he not? 

comtesse. For that very reason. Because 
his great hour is already nearly sped. That 
wild bull manner that moves the multitude 
— they will laugh at it in your House of 
Commons. 

sybil (indifferent). I suppose so. 

comtesse. Yet if he had education — 

sybil. Have we not been hearing how 
superbly he is educated ? 



58 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

comtesse. It is such as you or me that he 
needs to educate him now. You could do it 
almost too well. 

sybil (with that pretty stretch of neck) . I am 
not sufficiently interested. I retire in your 
favour. How would you begin? 

comtesse. By asking him to drop in, about 
five, of course. By the way, I wonder is there 
a Mrs. Shand ? 

sybil. I have no idea. But they marry 
young. 

comtesse. If there is not, there is probably 
a lady waiting for him, somewhere in a boiler. 

sybil. I dare say. 
(maggie descends.) 

maggie. Mr. Shand will be down directly. 

comtesse. Thank you. Your brother has 
been giving us such an interesting account of his 
career. I forget, Sybil, whether he said that he 
was married. 

maggie. No, he 's not married; but he will 
be soon. 

comtesse. Ah ! (She is merely making con- 
versation.) A friend of yours ? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 59 

maggie (now a scorner of herself). I don't 
think much of her. 

comtesse. In that case, tell me all about her. 

maggie. There 's not much to tell. She 's 
common, and stupid. One of those who go in 
for self -culture; and then when the test comes 
they break down. (With sinister enjoyment.) 
She '11 be the ruin of him. 

comtesse. But is not that sad ! Figure to 
yourself how many men with greatness before 
them have been shipwrecked by marrying in the 
rank from which they sprang. 

maggie. I 've told her that. 

comtesse. But she will not give him up ? 

MAGGIE. No. 

sybil. Why should she if he cares for her? 
What is her name? 

maggie. It 's — Maggie. 

comtesse (still uninterested). Well, I am 
afraid that Maggie is to do for John, (john 
comes down.) Ah, our hero ! 

john. Sorry I have kept you waiting. The 
Comtesse ? 

comtesse. And my niece Lady Sybil Ten- 



/ 



60 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

terden. (sybil's head inclines on ii# stem.) She 
is not really all my niece; I mean I am only half 
of her aunt. What a triumph, Mr. Shand ! 

john. Oh, pretty fair, pretty fair. Your 
brother has just finished addressing the crowd, 
Lady Sybil. 

sybil. Then we must not detain Mr. Shand, 
Auntie. 

comtesse (who unless her heart is touched 
thinks insincerity charming). Only one word. 
I heard you speak last night. Sublime ! Just 
the sort of impassioned eloquence that your 
House of Commons loves. 

john. It 's very good of you to say so. 

comtesse. But we must run. Bon soir. 
(sybil bows as to some one far away.) 

john. Good-night, Lady Sybil. I hear you 
think I 'm vulgar. 

(Eyebrows are raised.) 

comtesse. My dear Mr. Shand, what 
absurd — 

john. I was told she said that after hearing 
me speak. 

comtesse. Quite a mistake, I — 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 61 

john {doggedly). Is it not true? 

sybil {'waking up 9 ). You seem to know, 
Mr. Shand; and as you press me so unneces- 
sarily — well, yes, that is how you struck me. 

comtesse. My child ! 

sybil {who is a little agitated). He would 
have it. 

john {perplexed). What's the matter? I 
just wanted to know, because if it 's true I 
must alter it. 

comtesse. There, Sybil, see how he values 
your good opinion. 

sybil {her svelte figure giving like a fly-rod). 
It is very nice of you to put it in that way, 
Mr. Shand. Forgive me. 

john. But I don't quite understand yet. 
Of course, it can't matter to me, Lady Sybil, 
what you think of me; what I mean is, that 
I mustn't be vulgar if it would be injurious to 
my career. 

{The fly -rod regains its rigidity.) 

sybil. I see. No, of course, I could not 
affect your career, Mr. Shand. 

john {who quite understands that he is being 



m WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

challenged). That 's so, Lady Sybil, meaning no 
offence. 

sybil (who has a naughty little impediment 
in her voice when she is most alluring). Of 
course not. And we are friends again? 

john. Certainly. 

sybil. Then I hope you will come to see 
me in London as I present no terrors. 

john (he is a man, is john). I '11 be very 
pleased. 

sybil. Any afternoon about five. 

john. Much obliged. And you can teach me 
the things I don't know yet, if you '11 be so kind. 

sybil (the impediment becoming more assertive). 
If you wish it, I shall do my best. 

john. Thank you, Lady Sybil. And who 
knows there may be one or two things I can 
teach you. 

sybil (it has now become an angel's hiccough). 
Yes, we can help one another. Good-bye till then. 

john. Good-bye. Maggie, the ladies are 
going. 

(During this skirmish maggie has stood 
apart. At the mention of her name they 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 63 

glance at one another, john escorts sybil, 
but the comtesse turns back. She says: 

'Are you, then, the Maggie? (maggie nods 
rather defiantly and the comtesse is distressed.) 
But if I had known I would not have said those 
things. Please forgive an old woman/ 

Mt doesn't matter.' 

"I — I dare say it will be all right. Made- 
moiselle, if I were you I would not encourage 
those tete-a-tetes with Lady Sybil. I am the 
rude one, but she is the dangerous one; and 
I am afraid his impudence has attracted her. 
Bon voyage, Miss Maggie.' 

'Good-bye — but I can speak French. Je parle 
frangais. Isn't that right?' 

'But, yes, it is excellent. {Making things easy 
for her.) C'est tres bien.' 

' Je me suis embrouillee — la derniere fois.' 

'Good! Shall I speak more slowly?' 

'No, no. Non, non, faster, faster.' 

'J'admire votre courage!' 

'Je comprends chaque mot.' 

'Parfait! Bravo!' 

'Voila!' 



64 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'Superbe!' 

{The comtesse goes, applauding; and 
maggie has a moment of elation, which 
however has passed before john returns 
for his hat.) 
'Have you more speaking to do, John?' 

{He is somehow in high good-humour.) 
'I must run across and address the Cow- 
caddens Club. {He sprays his throat with 
a hand-spray.) I wonder if I am vulgar, 
Maggie ? ' 

'You are not, but / am.' 
'Not that I can see.' 

'Look how over-dressed I am, John ! I knew 
it was too showy when I ordered it, and yet 
I could not resist the thing. But I will tone 
down, I will. What did you think of Lady 
Sybil?' 

'That young woman had better be careful. 
She 's a bit of a beson, Maggie.' 
' She 's beautiful, John.' 
'She has a neat way of stretching herself. 
For playing with she would do as well as 
another.' 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 65 

(maggie looks at him wistfully.) 

'You couldn't stay and have a talk for a few 
minutes ? ' 

'If you want me, Maggie. The longer you 
keep them waiting, the more they think of 
you/ 

'When are you to announce that we 're to be 
married, John ? ' 

'I won't be long. You 've waited a year 
more than you need have done, so I think it 's 
your due I should hurry things now/ 

'I think it 's noble of you.' 

'Not at all, Maggie; the nobleness has been 
yours in waiting so patiently. And your 
brothers would insist on it at any rate. 
They 're watching me like cats with a mouse/ 

'It 's so little I 've done to help.' 

'Three hundred pounds/ 

'I 'm getting a thousand per cent, for it/ 

'And very pleased I am you should think 
so, Maggie.' 

'Is it terrible hard to you, John?' 

'It 's not hard at all. I can say truthfully, 
Maggie, that all, or nearly all, I 've seen of you 



66 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

in these six years has gone to increase my 
respect for you/ 

'Respect!' 

'And a bargain 's a bargain.' 

'If it wasn't that you 're so glorious to me, 
John, I would let you off.' 

{There is a gleam in his eye, but he puts 
it out) 

'In my opinion, Maggie, we '11 be a very happy 
pair.' 

(She accepts this eagerly.) 

' We know each other so well, John, don't we ? ' 

'I 'm an extraordinary queer character, and 
I suppose nobody knows me well except my- 
self; but I know you, Maggie, to the very roots 
of you.' 

(She magnanimously lets this remark alone.) 

'And it 's not as if there was any other 
woman you — fancied more, John.' 

'There 's none whatever.' 

'If there ever should be — oh, if there ever 
should be ! Some woman with charm.' 

'Maggie, you forget yourself. There couldn't 
be another woman once I was a married man.' 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 67 

'One has heard of such things.' 

'Not in Scotsmen, Maggie; not in Scots- 
men.' 

'I 've sometimes thought, John, that the 
difference between us and the English is that 
the Scotch are hard in all other respects but 
soft with women, and the English are hard with 
women but soft in all other respects.' 

'You 've forgotten the grandest moral attri- 
bute of a Scotsman, Maggie, that he '11 do 
nothing which might damage his career.' 

'Ah, but John, whatever you do, you do 
it so tremendously; and if you were to love, 
what a passion it would be.' 

'There 's something in that, I suppose.' 

'And then, what could I do? For the 
desire of my life now, John, is to help you to 
get everything you want, except just that I 
want you to have me, too.' 

'We '11 get on fine, Maggie.' 

'You 're just making the best of it. They 
say that love is sympathy, and if that 's so, 
mine must be a great love for you, for I see all 
you are feeling this night and bravely hiding; 



68 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

I feel for you as if I was John Shand my- 
self.' (john sighs.) 

'I had best go to the meeting, Maggie. 5 
'Not yet. Can you look me in the face, 
John, and deny that there is surging within 
you a mighty desire to be free, to begin the 
new life untrammelled ? ' 

'Leave such maggots alone, Maggie.' 
'It 's a shame of me not to give you up.' 
'I would consider you a very foolish woman 
if you did.' 

'If I were John Shand I would no more 
want to take Maggie Wylie with me through 
the beautiful door that has opened wide for 
you than I would want to take an old pair of 
shoon. Why don't you bang the door in my 
face, John?' {A tremor runs through john.) 
'A bargain 's a bargain, Maggie.' 

(maggie moves about, on eerie figure, 
breaking into little cries. She flutters 
round him, threateningly.) 
'Say one word about wanting to get out of 
it, and I '11 put the lawyers on you.' 

'Have I hinted at such a thing?' 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 69 

'The document holds you hard and fast.' 

c It does.' 

(She gloats miserably.) 

'The woman never rises with the man. I '11 
drag you down, John. I '11 drag you down.' 

'Have no fear of that, I won't let you. I 'm 
too strong.' 

'You '11 miss the prettiest thing in the world, 
and all owing to me.' 

'What's that?' 

'Romance.' 

'Poof.' 

'AH 's cold and grey without it, John. 
They that have had it have slipped in and 
out of heaven.' 

'You 're exaggerating, Maggie.' 

'You 've worked so hard, you 've had none 
of the fun that comes to* most men long before 
they 're your age.' 

'I never was one for fun. I cannot call 
to mind, Maggie, ever having laughed in my 
life.' 

'You have no sense of humour.' 

'Not a spark*' 



70 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'I Ve sometimes thought that if you had, 
it might make you fonder of me. I think 
one needs a sense of humour to be fond of 
me.' 

'I remember reading of some one that said 
it needed a surgical operation to get a joke into 
a Scotsman's head.' 

'Yes, that 's been said.' 

'What beats me, Maggie, is how you could 
insert a joke with an operation.' 

{He considers this and gives it up.) 

'That 's not the kind of fun I was thinking 
of. I mean fun with the lasses, John — gay, 
jolly, harmless fun. They could be impud- 
ent fashionable beauties now, stretching them- 
selves to attract you, like that hiccoughing 
little devil, and running away from you, 
and crooking their fingers to you to run after 
them.' 

(john draws a big breath.) 

'No, I never had that.' 

'It 's every man's birthright, and you would 
have it now but for me.' 

'I can do without, Maggie. 5 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 71 

'It 's like missing out all the Saturdays.' 
'You feel sure, I suppose, that an older man 
wouldn't suit you better, Maggie?' 

'I couldn't feel surer of anything. You 're 
just my ideal.' 

'Yes, yes. Well, that 's as it should be.' 

(She threatens him again.) 
'David has the document. It 's carefully 
locked away.' 

'He would naturally take good care of 
it.' 

(The pride of the Wylies deserts her.) 
'John, I make you a solemn promise that, 
in consideration of the circumstances of our 
marriage, if you should ever fall in love I '11 
act differently from other wives.' 
'There will be no occasion, Maggie. 5 

(Her voice becomes tremulous.) 
'John, David doesn't have the document. 
He thinks he has, but I have it here.' 

(Somewhat heavily john surveys the fatal 
paper.) 
'Well do I mind the look of it, Maggie. 
Yes, yes, that 's it. Umpha.' 



72 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'You don't ask why I 've brought it.' 

'Why did you?' 

'Because I thought I might perhaps have 
the courage and the womanliness to give it 
back to you. (john has a brief dream.) Will 
you never hold it up against me in the future 
that I couldn't do that?' 

'I promise you, Maggie, I never will.' 

'To go back to the Pans and take up my 
old life there, when all these six years my eyes 
have been centred on this night ! I 've been 
waiting for this night as long as you have 
been; and now to go back there, and wizen 
and dry up, when I might be married to John 
Shand!' 

'And you will be, Maggie. You have my 
word.' 

'Never — never — never. (She tears up the 
document. He remains seated immovable, but 
the gleam returns to his eye. She rages first at 
herself and then at him.) I 'm a fool, a fool, 
to let you go. I tell you, you '11 rue this day, 
for you need me, you '11 come to grief without 
me. There 's nobody can help you as I could 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 73 

have helped you. I 'm essential to your career, 
and you 're blind not to see it.' 

* What's that, Maggie? In no circum- 
stances would I allow any meddling with my 
career.' 

'You would never have known I was 
meddling with it. But that 's over. Don't 
be in too great a hurry to marry, John. Have 
your fling with the beautiful dolls first. Get 
the whiphand of the haughty ones, John. 
Give them their licks. Every time they hic- 
cough let them have an extra slap in memory 
of me. And be sure to remember this, ray 
man, that the one who marries you will find 
you out.' 

'Find me out?' 

'However careful a man is, his wife always 
finds out his failings.' 

'I don't know, Maggie, to what failings you 
refer. 

(The Cowcaddens Club has burst its walls, 
and is pouring this way to raise the new 
Member on its crest. The first wave hurls 
itself against the barber's shop with cries of 



74 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

€ Shand, Shand, Shand. 9 For a moment 

john stems the torrent by planting his 

back against the door.) 

You are acting under an impulse, Maggie, and I 

can't take advantage of it. Think the matter 

over, and we '11 speak about it in the morning.' 

'No, I can't go through it again. It ends 

to-night and now. Good luck, John.' 

(She is immediately submerged in the sea 
that surges through the door, bringing 
much wreckage with it. In a moment the 
place is so full that another cupful could 
not find standing room. Some slippery 
ones are squeezed upwards and remain aloft 
as warnings, john has jumped on to the 
stair, and harangues the flood vainly like 
another Canute. It is something about 
freedom and noble minds, and, though 
unheard, goes to all heads, including the 
speaker's. By the time he is audible 
sentiment has him for her own.) 
'But, gentlemen, one may have too much 
even of freedom. (No, no.) Yes, Mr. Adam- 
son. One may want to be tied. (Never, 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 75 

never.) I say yes, Willie Cameron; and I have 
found a young lady who I am proud to say is 
willing to be tied to me. I 'm to be married. 
{Uproar.) Her name 's Miss Wylie. (Trans- 
port.) Quiet; she 's here now. (Frenzy.) She 
was here ! Where are you, Maggie ? ' (A small 
voice — 'I 'm here.' A hundred great voices — 
'WTiere — where — where?' The small voice — 
'I 'm so little none of you can see me.') 

(Three men, name of Wylie, buffet their 
way forward. Anon is heard the voice of 

DAVID.) 

'James, father, have you grip of her?' 

'We 've got her.' 

'Then hoist her up.' 

(The queer little elated figure is raised 
aloft With her fingers she can just touch 
the stars. Not unconscious of the nobility 
of his behaviour, the hero of the evening 
points an impressive finger at her.) 

'Gentlemen, the future Mrs. John Shand!' 
('Speech, speech. 9 ) 'No, no, being a lady she 
can't make a speech, but — ' 

(The heroine of the evening surprises him.) 



76 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'I can make a speech, and I will make a 
speech, and it 's in two words, and they 're 
these — (holding out her arms to enfold all the 
members of the Cowcaddens Club) — My Con- 
stituents ! ' (Dementia.) 



Ill 



A few minutes ago the Comtesse de la Briere, who has 
not recently been in England, was shown into the 
London home of the Shands. Though not sufficiently 
interested to express her surprise in words, she raised 
her eyebrows on finding herself in a charming room; 
she had presumed that the Shand scheme of decoration 
would be as impossible as themselves. 

It is the little room behind the dining-room for which 
English architects have long been famous; 'Make 
something of this, and you will indeed be a clever 
one, 9 they seem to say to you as they unveil it. The 
Comtesse finds that Joh/i has undoubtedly made 
something of it. It is his 'study 9 (mon Dieu, the 
words these English use!) and there is nothing in it 
that offends; there is so much not in it too that might 
so easily have been there. It is not in the least ornate; 
there are no colours quarrelling with each other (unseen, 
unheard by the blissful occupant of the revolving 
chair); the Comtesse has not even the gentle satisfac- 
tion of noting a 'suite 9 in stained oak. Nature might 

77 



78 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

have taken a share in the decorations, so restful are 
they to the eyes; it is the working room of a man 
of culture, probably lately down from Oxford; at a 
first meeting there is nothing in it that pretends to be 
what it is not. Our visitor is a little disappointed, but 
being fair-minded blows her absent host a kiss for 
disappointing her. 

He has even, she observes with a twinkle, made 
something of the most difficult of his possessions, the 
little wife. For Maggie, who is here receiving her, 
has been quite creditably toned down. He has put 
her into a little grey frock that not only deals gently 
with her personal defects, but is in harmony with the 
room. Evidently, however, she has not 'risen' with 
him, for she is as stupid as ever; the Comtesse, who 
remembers having liked her the better of the two, could 
shake her for being so stupid. For instance, why is 
she not asserting herself in that other apartment? 

The other apartment is really a correctly solemn din- 
ing-room, of which we have a glimpse through partly 
open folding-doors. At this moment it is harbouring 
Mr. Shand's ladies 9 committee, who sit with pens and 
foolscap round the large table, awaiting the advent 
of their leader. There are nobly wise ones and some 
foolish ones among them, for we are back in the strange 
days when it was considered 'unwomanly 9 for women 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 79 

to have minds. The Comtesse peeps at them with 
curiosity, as they arrange their papers or are ushered 
into the dining-room through a door which we cannot 
see. To her frivolous ladyship they are a species of 
wild fowl, and she is specially amused to find her 
niece among them. She demands an explanation as 
soon as the communicating doors close. 



'Tell me since when has my dear Sybil become 
one of these ladies? It is not like her.' 

(maggie is obviously not clever enough to 
understand the woman question. Her eye 
rests longingly on a half-finished stocking 
as she innocently but densely replies: 
'I think it was about the time that my 
husband took up their cause.' 

{The comtesse has been hearing tales of 
lady sybil and the barbarian; and after 
having the grace to hesitate, she speaks 
with the directness for which she is famed 
in Mayfair.) 
'Mrs. Shand, excuse me for saying that if 
half of what I hear be true, your husband is 



80 WHAT EVERY WOMAN E^OWS 

seeing that lady a great deal too often, (maggie 
is expressionless; she reaches for her stocking, 
whereat her guest loses patience.) Oh, mon Dieu, 
put that down; you can buy them at two 
francs the pair. Mrs. Shand, why do not you 
compel yourself to take an intelligent interest in 
your husband's work?' 
'I typewrite his speeches.' 
'But do you know what they are about? 9 
'They are about various subjects.' 
'Oh!' 

{Did maggie give her an unseen quizzical 
glance before demurely resuming the knit- 
ting? One is not certain, as john has come 
in, and this obliterates her. A 'Scots- 
man on the make, 9 of whom david has 
spoken reverently, is still to be read — in 
a somewhat better bound volume — in john 
shand 's person; but it is as doggedly 
honest a face as ever; and he champions 
women, not for personal ends, but because 
his blessed days of poverty gave him a 
light upon their needs. His self-satisfac- 
tion, however, has increased, and he has 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 81 

pleasantly forgotten some things. For 
instance, he can now call out 'Porter' at 
railway stations without dropping his hands 
for the harrow, maggie introduces the 
comtesse, and he is still undaunted.) 
'I remember you well — at Glasgow.' 
'It must be quite two years ago, Mr. Shand.' 
(john has no objection to showing that he 
has had a classical education.) 
' Tempus fugit, Comtesse.' 
'I have not been much in this country since 
then, and I return to find you a coming 
man.' 

{Fortunately his learning is tempered with 
modesty.) 
'Oh, I don't know, I don't know.' 
'The Ladies' Champion.' 

(His modesty is tempered with a respect 
for truth.) 
'Well, well.' 

'And you are about, as I understand, to in- 
troduce a bill to give women an equal right 
with men to grow beards (which is all she knows 
about it. john takes the remark literally.) 



82 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'There 's nothing about beards in it, Comtesse. 
(She gives him time to cogitate, and is pleased to 
note that there is no result.) Have you typed my 
speech, Maggie?' 

'Yes; twenty-six pages.' (She produces it 
from a drawer.) 

(Perhaps JOHN wishes to impress the 
visitor.) 

'I 'm to give the ladies' committee a general 
idea of it. Just see, Maggie, if I know the perora- 
tion. "In conclusion, Mr. Speaker, these are the 
reasonable demands of every intelligent English- 
woman" — I had better say British woman — 
"and I am proud to nail them to my flag" ' — 
(The visitor is properly impressed.) 

'Oho ! defies his leaders !' 

' "So long as I can do so without embarrass- 
ing the Government." ' 

'Ah, ah, Mr. Shand!' 

' "I call upon the Front Bench, sir, loyally 
but firmly" '— 

'Firm again!' 

'. . . . "either to accept my Bill, or to pro- 
mise without delay to bring in one of their 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 83 

own; and if they decline to do so I solemnly 
warn them that though I will not press the 
matter to a division just now" ' — 

'Ahem!' 

' "I will bring it forward again in the near 
future." And now, Comtesse, you know that 
I 'm not going to divide — and not another soul 
knows it.' 

'I am indeed flattered by your confidence.' 

'I 've only told you because I don't care who 
knows now.' 

'Oh!' 

{Somehow maggie seems to be dissatisfied.) 

'But why is that, John?' 

'I daren't keep the Government in doubt 
any longer about what I mean to do. I '11 show 
the whips the speech privately to-night.' 

{But still maggie wants to know) 'But not 
to go to a division is hedging, isn't it ? Is that 
strong ? ' 

'To make the speech at all, Maggie, is stronger 
than most would dare. They would do for me 
if I went to a division.' 

'Bark but not bite?' 



84 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'Now, now, Maggie, you 're out of your 
depth.' 

'I suppose that 's it.' 

(The comtesse remains in the shallows.) 

'But what will the ladies say, Mr. Shand?' 

'They won't like it, Comtesse, but they 've got 
to lump it.' 

{Here the maid appears with a card for 
maggie, who considers it quietly.) 

'Any one of importance?' 

'No.' 

'Then I 'm ready, Maggie.' 

(This is evidently an intimation that she is 
to open the folding-doors, and he makes an 
effective entrance into the dining-room, his 
thumb in his waistcoat. There is a delicious 
clapping of hands from the committee, and 
the door closes. Not till then does maggie, 
who has grown thoughtful, tell her maid to 
admit the visitor.) 

'Another lady, Mrs. Shand?' 

'The card says "Mr. Charles Venables." ' 
(The comtesse is really interested at last.) 

'Charles Venables ! Do you know him?' 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 85 

'I think I call to mind meeting one of that 
name at the Foreign Office party.' 

'One of that name ! He who is a Minister of 
your Cabinet. But as you know him so little 
why should he call on you?' 
'I wonder.' 

(maggie's glance wanders to the drawer in 
which she has replaced John's speech.) 
'Well, well, I shall take care of you, petite.' 
'Do you know him?' 

'Do I know him ! The last time I saw him 
he asked me to — to — hem ! — ma cherie, it was 
thirty years ago.' 
'Thirty years!' 

'I was a pretty woman then. I dare say I 
shall detest him now; but if I find I do not — let 
us have a little plot — I shall drop this book; and 
then perhaps you will be so charming as — as 
not to be here for a little while ? ' 

(mr. venables, who enters, is such a 
courtly seigneur that he seems to bring the 
eighteenth century with him; you feel that 
his sedan chair is at the door. He stoops 
over maggie's plebeian hand.) 



86 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'I hope you will pardon my calling, Mrs. 
Shand; we had such a pleasant talk the other 
evening.' 

(maggie, of course, is at once deceived by 

his gracious manner.) 
'I think it 's kind of you. Do you know 
each other? The Comtesse de la Briere.' 

(He repeats the name with some emotion, 

and the comtesse half mischievously, 

half sadly, holds a hand before her 

face.) 
'Comtesse.' 
'Thirty years, Mr. Venables.' 

(He gallantly removes the hand that screens 

her face.) 
'It does not seem so much.' 

(She gives him a similar scrutiny.) 
'Mon Dieu, it seems all that.' 

(They smile rather ruefully, maggie like 

a kind hostess relieves the tension.) 
'The Comtesse has taken a cottage in Surrey 
for the summer.' 
'I am overjoyed.' 
'No, Charles, you are not. You no longer 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 87 

care. Fickle one! And it is only thirty 
years.' 

{He sinks into a chair beside her.) 
'Those heavenly evenings, Comtesse, on the 
Bosphorus.' 

'I refuse to talk of them. I hate you.' 

{But she drops the book, and maggie fades 
from the room. It is not a very clever 
departure, and the old diplomatist smiles. 
Then he sighs a beautiful sigh, for he does 
all things beautifully.) 
'It is moonlight, Comtesse, on the Golden 
Horn.' 

' Who are those two young things in a caique ? ' 
'Is he the brave Leander, Comtesse, and is 
she Hero of the Lamp ? ' 

'No, she is the foolish wife of the French 
Ambassador, and he is a good-for-nothing British 
attache trying to get her husband's secrets out 
of her.' 

'Is it possible ! They part at a certain garden 
gate.' 

'Oh, Charles, Charles!' 

'But you promised to come back; I waited 



88 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

there till dawn. Blanche, if you had come 
back — ' 

'How is Mrs. Venables?' 

'She is rather poorly. I think it 's gout.' 

'And you?' 

'I creak a little in the mornings.' 

'So do I. There is such a good man at Wies- 
baden.' 

'The Homburg fellow is better. The way he 
patched me up last summer — Oh, Lord, Lord ! ' 

'Yes, Charles, the game is up; we are two 
old fogies. (They groan in unison; then she raps 
him sharply on the knuckles.) Tell me, sir, what 
are you doing here ? ' 

'Merely a friendly call.' 

'I do not believe it.' 

'The same woman; the old delightful can- 
dour.' 

'The same man; the old fibs. (She sees that 
the door is asking a question.) Yes, come, Mrs. 
Shand, I have had quite enough of him; I warn 
you he is here for some crafty purpose.' 

maggie (drawing back timidly). Surely not? 

venables. Really, Comtesse, you make con- 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 89 

versation difficult. To show that my intentions 
are innocent, Mrs. Shand, I propose that you 
choose the subject. 

maggie {relieved). There, Comtesse. 

venables. I hope your husband is well ? 

maggie. Yes, thank you. (With a happy 
thought.) I decide that we talk about him. 

venables. If you wish it. 

comtesse. Be careful; he has chosen the 
subject. 

maggie. / chose it, didn't I ? 

venables. You know you did. 

maggie (appealingly) . You admire John? 

venables. Very much. But he puzzles me 
a little. You Scots, Mrs. Shand, are such a 
mixture of the practical and the emotional that 
you escape out of an Englishman's hand like a 
trout. 

maggie (open-eyed). Do we? 

venables. Well, not you, but your husband. 
I have known few men make a worse beginning 
in the House. He had the most atrocious bow- 
wow public park manner — 

comtesse. I remember that manner ! 



90 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie. No, he hadn't. 

venables (soothingly) . At first. But by his 
second session he had shed all that, and he is 
now a pleasure to listen to. By the way, Com- 
tesse, have you found any dark intention in that ? 

comtesse. You wanted to know whether he 
talks over these matters with his wife; and she 
has told you that he does not. 

maggie (indignantly). I haven't said a word 
about it, have I? 

venables. Not a word. Then, again, I 
admire him for his impromptu speeches. 

maggie. What is impromptu? 

venables. Unprepared. They have con- 
tained some grave blunders, not so much of 
judgment as of taste — 

maggie (hotly). I don't think so. 

venables. Pardon me. But he has righted 
himself subsequently in the neatest way. I have 
always found that the man whose second 
thoughts are good is worth watching. Well, 
Comtesse, I see you have something to say. 

comtesse. You are wondering whether she 
can tell you who gives him his second thoughts. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 91 

maggie. Gives them to John? I would 
like to see anybody try to give thoughts to 
John. 

VENABLES. Quite SO. 

comtesse. Is there anything more that has 
roused your admiration, Charles? 

venables (purring). Let me see. Yes, we 
are all much edified by his humour. 

comtesse (surprised indeed). His humour? 
That man ! 

maggie (with hauteur). Why not? 

venables. I assure you, Comtesse, some of 
the neat things in his speeches convulse the 
house. A word has even been coined for them 
— Shandisms. 

comtesse (slowly recovering from a blow). 
Humour ! 

venables. In conversation, I admit, he 
strikes one as being — ah — somewhat lacking in 
humour. 

comtesse (pouncing). You are wondering 
who supplies his speeches with the humour. 

maggie. Supplies John ? 

venables. Now that you mention it, some 



92 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

of his Shandisms do have a curiously feminine 
quality. 

comtesse. You have thought it might be a 
woman. 

venables. Really, Comtesse — 

comtesse. I see it all. Charles, you thought 
it might be the wife ! 

venables (flinging up his hands). I own up. 

Maggie (bewildered). Me? 

venables. Forgive me, I see I was wrong. 

maggie (alarmed). Have I been doing John 
any harm ? 

venables. On the contrary, I am relieved to 
know that there are no hairpins in his speeches. 
If he is at home, Mrs. Shand, may I see him? 
I am going to be rather charming to him. 

maggie (drawn in two directions) . Yes, he is — 
oh yes — but — 

venables. That is to say, Comtesse, if he 
proves himself the man I believe him to be. 

(This arrests maggie almost as she has 
reached the dining-room door.) 

maggie (hesitating) . He is very busy just now. 

venables (smiling). I think he will see me. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 93 

maggie. Is it something about his speech ? 

venables (the smile hardening). Well, yes, 
it is. 

maggie. Then I dare say I could tell you 
what you want to know without troubling him, 
as I Ve been typing it. 

venables (with a sigh). I don't acquire in- 
formation in that way. 

comtesse. I trust not. 

maggie. There's no secret about it. He is 
to show it to the Whips to-night. 

venables (sharply). You are sure of that? 

comtesse. It is quite true, Charles. I heard 
him say so; and indeed he repeated what he 
called the 'peroration' before me. 

maggie. I know it by heart. (She plays 
a bold game.) 'These are the demands of all 
intelligent British women, and I am proud to 
nail them to my flag' — 

comtesse. The very words, Mrs. Shand. 

maggie (looking at her imploringly). 'And 
I don't care how they may embarrass the 
Government. ' ( The comtesse is bereft of speech, 
so suddenly has she been introduced to the 



94 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

real maggie shand.) 'If the right honourable 
gentleman will give us his pledge to introduce a 
similar bill this session I will willingly withdraw 
mine; but otherwise I solemnly warn him that 
I will press the matter now to a division.' 

(She turns her face from the great man; 
she has gone white.) 
venables (after a pause). Capital. 

(The blood returns to Maggie's heart) 
comtesse (who is beginning to enjoy herself 
very much). Then you are pleased to know 
that he means to, as you say, go to a division ? 
venables. Delighted. The courage of it 
will be the making of him. 
comtesse. I see. 

venables. Had he been to hedge we should 
have known that he was a pasteboard knight 
and have disregarded him. 
comtesse. I see. 

(She desires to catch the eye of maggie, 
but it is carefully turned from her.) 
venables. Mrs. Shand, let us have him in 
at once. 

comtesse. Yes, yes, indeed. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 95 

(maggie's anxiety returns, but she has 
to call john in.) 

john {impressed). Mr. Venables ! This is an 
honour. 

venables. How are you, Shand? 

john. Sit down, sit down. {Becoming him- 
self again.) I can guess what you have come 
about. 

venables. Ah, you Scotsmen. 

john. Of course I know I 'm harassing the 
Government a good deal — 

venables {blandly). Not at all, Shand. 
The Government are very pleased. 

john. You don't expect me to believe that. 

venables. I called here to give you the proof 
of it. You may know that we are to have a big 
meeting at Leeds on the 24th, when two Ministers 
are to speak. There is room for a third speaker, 
and I am authorised to offer that place to you. 

john. To me ! 

venables. Yes. 

john {swelling). It would be — the Govern- 
ment taking me up. 

venables. Don't make too much of it; it 



96 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

would be an acknowledgment that they look 
upon you as one of their likely young men. 

maggie. John ! 

john (not found wanting in a trying hour). 
It 's a bribe. You are offering me this on con- 
dition that I don't make my speech. How can 
you think so meanly of me as to believe that I 
would play the women's cause false for the sake 
of my own advancement. I refuse your bribe. 

venables (liking him for the first time). 
Good. But you are wrong. There are no con- 
ditions, and we want you to make your speech. 
Now do you accept? 

john (still suspicious). If you make me the 
same offer after you have read it. I insist on 
your reading it first. 

venables (sighing). By all means. 

(maggie is in an agony as she sees john 
hand the speech to his leader. On the 
other hand 9 the comtesse thrills.) 

But I assure you we look on the speech 
as a small matter. The important thing is 
your intention of going to a division; and we 
agree to that also. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 97 

john {losing his head). What 's that? 

venables. Yes, we agree. 

john. But — but — why, you have been threat- 
ening to excommunicate me if I dared. 

venables. All done to test you, Shand. 

john. To test me ? 

venables. We know that a division on your 
Bill can have no serious significance; we shall 
see to that. And so the test was to be whether 
you had the pluck to divide the House. Had 
you been intending to talk big in this speech, 
and then hedge, through fear of the Government, 
they would have had no further use for you. 

john (heavily). I understand. (But there is 
one thing he cannot understand, which is, why 
venables should be so sure that he is not to hedge.) 

venables (turning over the 'pages carelessly). 
Any of your good things in this, Shand ? 

john (whose one desire is to get the pages 
back) . No, I — no — it isn't necessary you should 
read it now. 

venables (from politeness only). Merely for 
my own pleasure. I shall look through it this 
evening. (He rolls up the speech to put it in 



98 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

his pocket, john turns despairingly to maggie, 
though well aware that no help can come from her.) 

maggie. That 's the only copy there is, 
John. {To venables.) Let me make a fresh 
one, and send it to you in an hour or two. 

venables {good-naturedly). I could not put 
you to that trouble, Mrs. Shand. I will take 
good care of it. 

maggie. If anything were to happen to 
you on the way home, wouldn't whatever is in 
your pocket be considered to be the property 
of your heirs ? 

venables {laughing). Now there is fore- 
thought ! Shand, I think that after that — ! 
{He returns the speech to john, whose hand 
swallows it greedily.) She is Scotch too, 
Comtesse. 

comtesse {delighted). Yes, she is Scotch too. 

venables. Though the only persons likely to 
do for me in the street, Shand, are your ladies' 
committee. Ever since they took the horse out 
of my brougham, I can scent them a mile away. 

comtesse. A mile? Charles, peep in there. 
{He softly turns the handle of the dining- 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 99 

room door, and realises that his scent is 
not so good as he had thought it. He bids 
his hostess and the comtesse good-bye in a 
burlesque whisper and tiptoes off to safer 
places, john having gone out with him, 
maggie can no longer avoid the comtesse's 
reproachful eye. That much injured lady 
advances upon her with accusing finger.) 
'So, madam!' 

(maggie is prepared for her.) 
'I don't know what you mean.' 
'Yes, you do. I mean that there is some 
one who "helps" our Mr. Shand.' 
'There 's not.' 

'And it is a woman, and it 's you.' 
'I help in the little things.' 
'The little things ! You are the Pin he 
picked up and that is to make his fortune. And 
now what I want to know is whether your 
John is aware that you help at all.' 

(john returns, and at once provides the answer.) 
'Maggie, Comtesse, I 've done it again !' 
'I 'm so glad, John.' 

(The comtesse is in an ecstasy.) 



100 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'And all because you were not to hedge, Mr. 
Shand.' 

(His appeal to her with the wistfulness of a 
schoolboy makes him rather attractive.) 
'You won't tell on me, Comtesse ! (He thinks 
it out.) They had just guessed I would be firm 
because they know I 'm a strong man. You 
little saw, Maggie, what a good turn you were 
doing me when you said you wanted to make 
another copy of the speech.' 
(She is dense.) 
'How, John?' 
'Because now I can alter the end.' 

(She is enlightened.) 
'So you can !' 

'Here 's another lucky thing, Maggie: I 

hadn't told the ladies' committee that I was to 

hedge, and so they need never know. Comtesse, 

I tell you there 's a little cherub who sits up 

aloft and looks after the career of John Shand.' 

(The comtesse looks not aloft but toward 

the chair at present occupied by maggie.) 

'Where does she sit, Mr. Shand?' 

(He knows that women are not well read.) 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 101 

'It 's just a figure of speech.' 

{He returns airily to his committee room; 

and now again you may hear the click of 

Maggie's needles. They no longer annoy 

the comtesse; she is setting them to music.) 

'It is not down here she sits, Mrs. Shand, 

knitting a stocking.' 

'No, it isn't.' 

'And when I came in I gave him credit for 
everything; even for the prettiness of the room ! ' 
'He has beautiful taste.' 
'Good-bye, Scotchy.' 

'Good-bye, Comtesse, and thank you for 
coming.' 

'Good-bye— Miss Pin.' 

(maggie rings genteelly.) 
'Good-bye.' 

{The comtesse is now lost in admiration 
of her.) 
'You divine little wife. He can't be worthy 
of it, no man could be worthy of it. Why do 
you do it?' 

(maggie shivers a little.) 
'He loves to think he does it all himself; 



102 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

that 's the way of men. I 'm six years older 
than he is. I 'm plain, and I have no charm. 
I shouldn't have let him marry me. I 'm trying 
to make up for it.' 

(The comtesse kisses her and goes away. 

maggie, somewhat foolishly, resumes her 

knitting.) 



Some days later this same room is listen- 
ing — with the same inattention — to the out- 
pouring of john shand's love for the lady 
of the hiccoughs. We arrive — by arrange- 
ment — rather late; and thus we miss some 
of the most delightful of the pangs. 

One can see that these two are playing 
no game, or, if they are, that they little 
know it. The wonders of the world (so 
strange are the instruments chosen by 
Love) have been revealed to john in 
hiccoughs; he shakes in sybil's presence; 
never were more swimming eyes; he who 
has been of a wooden face till now, with 
ways to match, has gone on flame like a 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 103 

"piece of paper; emotion is in flood in him. 
We may be almost fond of john for being 
so worshipful of love. Much has come to 
him that we had almost despaired of his 
acquiring, including nearly all the divine 
attributes except that sense of humour. 
The beautiful sybil has always possessed 
but little of it also, and what she had 
has been struck from her by Cupid 9 s flail. 
Naked of the saving grace, they face each 
other in awful rapture.) 
'In a room, Sybil, I go to you as a cold 

man to a fire. You fill me like a peal of bells 

in an empty house.' 

(She is being brutally treated by the dear 
impediment, for which hiccough is such an 
inadequate name that even to spell it is an 
abomination though a sign of ability. How 
to describe a sound that is noiseless? Let 
us put it thus, that when sybil wants to 
say something very much there are little 
obstacles in her way; she falters, falls 
perhaps once, and then is over, the while 
her appealing orbs beg you not to be angry 



104 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

with her. We may express those sweet 
pauses in precious dots, which some clever 
person can afterwards string together and 
make a pearl necklace of them.) 
'I should not ... let you say it, . . . but 
. . . you . . . say it so beautifully.' 
'You must have guessed.' 
'I dreamed ... I feared . . . but you were 
. . . Scotch, and I didn't know what to think.' 
'Do you know what first attracted me to 
you, Sybil? It was your insolence. I thought, 
"I '11 break her insolence for her." ' 

'And I thought ... "I '11 break his 
str . . . ength!"' 

'And now your cooing voice plays round 
me; the softness of you, Sybil, in your pretty 
clothes makes me think of young birds. (The 
impediment is now insurmountable; she has to 
swim for it, she swims toward him.) It is you 
who inspire my work.' 

(He thrills to find that she can be touched 
without breaking.) 
'I am so glad ... so proud . . .' 
'And others know it, Sybil, as well as I. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 105 

Only yesterday the Comtesse said to me, "No 
man could get on so fast unaided. Cherchez la 
femme, Mr. Shand." ' 

'Auntie said that!' 

'I said "Find her yourself, Comtesse." 9 

'And she?' 

'She said "I have found her," and I said in 
my blunt way, "You mean Lady Sybil," and 
she went away laughing.' 

'Laughing?' 

'I seem to amuse the woman.' 
(sybil grows sad.) 

'If Mrs. Shand — It is so cruel to her. 
Whom did you say she had gone to the station 
to meet ? ' 

'Her father and brothers.' 

'It is so cruel to them. We must think 
no more of this. It is mad . . . ness.' 

'It 's fate. Sybil, let us declare our love 
openly.' 

'You can't ask that, now in the first moment 
that you tell me of it.' 

'The one thing I won't do even for you is to 
live a life of underhand.' 



106 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'The . . . blow to her.' 

'Yes. But at least she has always known 
that I never loved her.' 

'It is asking me to give ... up everything, 
every one, for you.' 

'It 's too much.' 

(john is humble at last.) 

'To a woman who truly loves, even that is 
not too much. Oh ! it is not I who matter — it 
is you.' 

'My dear, my dear/ 

'So gladly would I do it to save you; but, oh, 
if it were to bring you down !' 

'Nothing can keep me down if I have you to 
help me. 5 

'I am dazed, John, I . . .' 

'My love, my love.' 

'I . . . oh . . . here » . .' 

'Be brave, Sybil, be brave.' 



(In this bewilderment of pearls she melts 
into his arms, maggie happens to open 
the door just then; but neither fond heart 
hears her.) 



" 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 107 

'I can't walk along the streets, Sybil, without 
looking in all the shop windows for what I think 
would become you best. (As awkwardly as though 
his heart still beat against corduroy, he takes from 
his pocket a pendant and its chain. He is shy, 
and she drops pearls over the beauty of the ruby 
which is its only stone.) It is a drop of my blood, 
Sybil/ 

(Her lovely neck is outstretched, and he puts 
the chain round it. Maggie withdraws as 
silently as she had come; but perhaps the 
door whispered ( d — n,' or (humorously) 
( d . . n 9 as it closed, for sybil wakes out 
of Paradise.) 
'I thought — Did the door shut?' 
'It was shut already.' 

(Perhaps it is only that sybil is bewildered 
to find herself once again in a world that 
has doors.) 
'It seemed to me — ' 

'There was nothing. But I think I hear 
voices; they may have arrived.' 

(Some pretty instinct makes sybil go 
farther from him. maggie kindly gives 



108 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

her time for this by speaking before open- 
ing the door.) 
'That will do perfectly, David. The maid 
knows where to put them. (She comes in.) 
They Ve come, John; they would help with the 
luggage, (john goes out. maggie is agreeably 
surprised to find a visitor.) How do you. do, 
Lady Sybil? This is nice of you/ 

'I was so sorry not to find you in, Mrs. 
Shand.' 

(The impediment has run away. It is only 
for those who love it.) 
'Thank you. You '11 sit down?' 
'I think not; your relatives — ' 
'They will be so proud to see that you are 
my friend.' 

(7/ maggie were less simple her guest would 
feel more comfortable. She tries to make 
conversation.) 
'It is their first visit to London?' 

(Instead of relieving her anxiety on this 
point,MAGGm has a long look at the gorgeous 
armful.) 
'I 'm glad you are so beautiful, Lady Sybil.' 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 109 

(The beautiful one is somehow not flat- 
tered. She pursues her investigations with 
growing uneasiness.) 
'One of them is married now, isn't he? 
(Still there is no answer; maggie continues 
looking at her, and shivers slightly.) Have they 
travelled from Scotland to-day? Mrs. Shand, 
why do you look at me so? The door did 
open! (maggie nods.) What are you to 
do?' 

'That would be telling. Sit down/my pretty.' 
(As sybil subsides into what the Wylies 
with one glance would call the best chair, 
Maggie's men-folk are brought in by john, 
all carrying silk hats and looking very active 
after their long rest in the train. They 
are gazing about them. They would like 
this lady, they would like john, they would 
even like maggie to go away for a little 
and leave them to examine the room. Is 
that linen on the walls, for in^ance, or 
just paper? Is the carpet as thick as it 
feels, or is there brown paper beneath it? 
Had maggie got anything off that book- 



110 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

case on account of the worm-holes? david 
even discovers that we were simpletons 
when we said there was nothing in the 
room that pretended to be what it was 
not. He taps the marble mantelpiece, 
and is favourably impressed by the tinny 
sound.) 
david. Very fine imitation. It 's a capital 
house, Maggie. 

maggie. I 'm so glad you like it. Do you 
know one another? This is my father and my 
brothers, Lady Sybil. 

(The lovely form inclines toward them. 
auck and john remain firm on their legs, 
but james totters.) 
james. A ladyship ! Well done, Maggie. 
auck (sharply). James ! I remember you, 
my lady. 

maggie. Sit down, father. This is the 
study. 

(james wanders round it inquisitively 
until called to order.) 
sybil. You must be tired after your long 
journey. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 111 

david {drawing the portraits of himself and 
partners in one lightning sketch). Tired, your 
ladyship ? We sat on cushioned seats the whole 
way. 

james (looking about him for the chair you 
sit on). Every seat in this room is cushioned. 

maggie. You may say all my life is cushioned 
now, James, by this dear man of mine. 

(She gives John's shoulder a loving 
pressure, which sybil feels is a tele- 
graphic communication to herself in a 
cypher that she cannot read, alick and 
the brothers basic in the evidence of 
Maggie's happiness.) 
john (uncomfortably). And is Elizabeth 
hearty, James ? 

james (looking down his nose in the manner 
proper to young husbands when addressed about 
their wives). She 's very well, I thank you 
kindly. 

maggie. James is a married man now, Lady 
Sybil. 

(sybil murmurs her congratulations.) 
james. I thank you kindly. (Courageously.) 



112 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

Yes, I 'm married. {He looks at david and 
auck to see if they are smiling; and they are.) 
It wasn't a case of being catched; it was 
entirely of my own free will. {He looks again; 
and the mean fellows are smiling still.) Is your 
ladyship married ? 

sybil. Alas ! no. 

david. James ! {Politely.) You will be yet, 
my lady. 

(sybil indicates that he is kind indeed.) 

JOHN. Perhaps they would like you to show 
them their rooms, Maggie? 

david. Fine would we like to see all the 
house as well as the sleeping accommodation. 
But first — {He gives his father the look with 
which chairmen call on the next speaker.) 

auck. I take you, David. {He produces a 
paper parcel from a roomy pocket.) It wasn't 
likely, Mr. Shand, that we would forget the day. 

john. The day ? 

david. The second anniversary of your 
marriage. We came purposely for the day. 

james {his fingers itching to take the parcel 
from his father). It 's a lace shawl, Maggie, 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 113 

from the three of us, a pure Tobermory; you 
would never dare wear it if you knew the cost. 
(The shawl in its beauty is revealed, and 
Maggie hails it with little cries of joy. She 
rushes at the donors and kisses each of them 
just as if she were a pretty woman. They 
are much pleased and give expression to their 
pleasure in a not very dissimilar manner.) 

alick. Havers. 

david. Havers. 

james. Havers. 

john. It 's a very fine shawl. 

(He should not have spoken, for he has 
set james's volatile mind working.) 

james. You may say so. What did you 
give her, Mr. Shand? 

john (suddenly deserted py God and man) . Me ? 

auck. Yes, yes, let *s see it. 

JOHN. Oh — I — 

(He is not deserted by maggie, but she can 
think of no way out.) 

sybil (prompted by the impediment, which is in 
hiding, quite close). Did he . . . forget? 

(There is more than a touch of malice in the 



114 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

question. It is a challenge, and the Wylies 
as a family are almost too quick to accept a 
challenge.) 
maggie (lifting the gage of battle). John 
forget ? Never ! It 's a pendant, father. 
(The impediment bolts, john rises.) 
alick. A pendant ? One of those things on 
a chain ? 

(He grins, remembering how once, about 
sixty years ago, he and a lady and a pen- 
dant — but we have no time for this.) 
maggie. Yes. 

david (who has felt the note of antagonism and 
is troubled). You were slow in speaking of it, 
Mr. Shand. 

maggie. (This is her fight.) He was shy, 
because he thought you might blame him for 
extravagance. 

david (relieved). Oh, that 's it. 
james (licking his lips). Let 's see it. 
maggie (a daughter of the devil). Where did 
you put it, John? 

(john's mouth opens but has nothing to 
contribute.) 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 115 

sybil {the impediment has stolen back again). 
Perhaps it has been . . . mislaid. 

{The brothers echo the word incredulously.) 

maggie. Not it. I can't think where we 
laid it down, John. It 's not on that table, is it, 
James ? {The Wylies turn to look, and Maggie's 
hand goes out to lady sybil: john shand, 
witness. It is a very determined hand, and 'pre- 
sently a pendant is placed in it.) Here it is ! 
(alick and the brothers cluster round it, weigh 
it and appraise it.) 

alick. Preserve me. Is that stone real, Mr. 
Shand? 

john {who has begun to look his grimmest). 
Yes. 

maggie {who is now ready, if he wishes it, to take 
him on too). John says it '.s a drop of his blood. 

john {wishing it). And so it is. 

david. Well said, Mr. Shand. 

maggie {scared). And now, if you '11 all come 
with me, I think John has something he wants 
to talk over with Lady Sybil. {Recovering and 
taking him on.) Or would you prefer, John, 
to say it before us all ? 



116 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

sybil {gasping). No ! 

john {flinging back his head). Yes, I prefer 
to say it before you all. 

maggie {flinging back hers). Then sit down 
again. 

{The Wylies wonderingly obey.) 

sybil. Mr. Shand, Mr. Shand !— 

john. Maggie knows, and it was only for 
her I was troubled. Do you think I 'm afraid 
of them? {With mighty relief.) Now we can 
be open. 

david {lowering). What is it? What's 
wrong, John Shand ? 

john {facing him squarely). It was to Lady 
Sybil I gave the pendant, and all my love with 
it. {Perhaps james utters a cry, but the silence 
of alick and david is more terrible.) 

sybil {whose voice is smaller than we had 
thought). What are you to do? 

{It is to maggie she is speaking.) 

davh). She '11 leave it for us to do. 

john. That 's what I want. 

{The lords of creation look at the ladies.) 

maggie {interpreting). You and I are ex- 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 117 

pected to retire, Lady Sybil, while the men 
decide our fate, (sybil is ready to obey the law, 
but maggie remains seated.) Man 's the oak, 
woman 's the ivy. Which of us is it that 's to 
cling to you, John ? 

(With three stalwarts glaring at him, john 

rather grandly takes sybil's hand. They 

are two against the world.) 

sybil (a heroine). I hesitated, but I am 

afraid no longer; whatever he asks of me I 

will do. 

(Evidently the first thing he asks of her is 
to await him in the dining-room.) 
It will mean surrendering everything for him. 
I am glad it means all that. (She passes into the 
dining-room looking as pretty as a kiss.) 
maggie. So that settles it. 
alick. I 'm thinking that doesn't settle it. 
david. No, by God! (But his love for 
maggie steadies him. There is even a note of 
entreaty in his voice.) Have you nothing to say 
to her, man? 

john. I have things to say to her, but not 
before you. 



118 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

david {sternly). Go away, Maggie. Leave 
him to us. 

james {who thinks it is about time that he said 
something). Yes, leave him to us. 

maggie. No, David, I want to hear what is 
to become of me; I promise not to take any 
side. 

{And sitting by the fire she resumes her knit- 
ting. The four regard her as on an evening 
at The Pans a good many years ago.) 

david {barking). How long has this been 
going on ? 

john. If you mean how long has that lady 
been the apple of my eye, I 'm not sure; but I 
never told her of it until to-day. 

maggie {thoughtfully and without dropping a 
stitch). I think it wasn't till about six months 
ago, John, that she began to be very dear to 
you. At first you liked to bring in her name 
when talking to me, so that I could tell you of 
any little things I might have heard she was 
doing. But afterwards, as she became more 
and more to you, you avoided mentioning her 
name. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 119 

john {surprised). Did you notice that? 

maggie (in her old-fashioned way). Yes. 

john. I tried to be done with it for your 
sake. I 've often had a sore heart for you, 
Maggie. 

james. You 're proving it ! 

maggie. Yes, James, he had. I 've often 
seen him looking at me very sorrowfully of late 
because of what was in his mind; and many a 
kindly little thing he has done for me that he 
didn't used to do. v 

john. You noticed that too ! 

maggie. Yes. 

david {controlling himself). Well, we won't 
go into that; the thing to be thankful for is that 
it 's ended. 

alick {who is looking very old). Yes, yes, 
that 's the great thing. 

john. All useless, sir, it 's not ended; it 's 
to go on. 

david. There 's a devil in you, John Shand, 

john {who is an unhappy man just now). I 
dare say there is. But do you think he had a 
walk over, Mr. David? 



120 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

james. Man, I could knock you down ! 

maggie. There 's not one of you could knock 
John down. 

david {exasperated). Quiet, Maggie. One 
would think you were taking his part. 

maggie. Do you expect me to desert him at 
the very moment that he needs me most ? 

david. It 's him that 's deserting you. 

john. Yes, Maggie, that 's what it is. 

alick. Where 's your marriage vow ? And 
your church attendances? 

james {with terrible irony). And your prize 
for moral philosophy? 

john {recklessly). All gone whistling down 
the wind. 

david. I suppose you understand that you '11 
have to resign your seat. 

john {his underlvp much in evidence). There 
are hundreds of seats, but there 's only one John 
Shand. 

maggie {but we don't hear her). That 's how 
I like to hear him speak. 

david {the ablest person in the room). Think, 
man, I 'm old by you, and for long I 've had 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 121 

a pride in you. It will be beginning the world 
again with more against you than there was 
eight years ago. 

john. I have a better head to begin it with 
than I had eight years ago. 

alick {hoping this will bite). She '11 have her 
own money, David ! 

john. She 's as poor as a mouse. 

james {thinking possibly of his Elizabeth's 
mother). We '11 go to her friends, and tell them 
all. They '11 stop it. 

john. She 's of age. 

james. They '11 take her far away. 

john. I '11 follow, and tear her from them. 

alick. Your career* — 

john {to his credit). To hell with my career. 
Do you think I don't know I 'm on the rocks. 
What can you, or you, or you, understand of the 
passions of a man ! I 've fought, and I 've given 
in. When a ship founders, as I suppose I' m 
foundering, it 's not a thing to yelp at. Peace 
all of you. {He strides into the dining-room, 
where we see him at times pacing the floor.) 

david {to james, who gives signs of a desire to 



122 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

take of his coat). Let him be. We can't budge 
him. (With bitter wisdom.) It 's true what he 
says, true at any rate about me* What do I 
know of the passions of a man ! I 'm up 
against something I don't understand. 
alick. It 's something wicked. 
david. I dare say it is, but it 's something big. 
james. It 's that damned charm. 
maggie (still by the fire). That 's it. What 
was it that made you fancy Elizabeth, James ? 
james (sheepishly). I can scarcely say. 
maggie. It was her charm. 
DAVDD. Her charm ! 
james (pugnaciously). Yes, her charm. 
maggie. She had charm for James. 

(This somehow breaks them up. maggie 
goes from one to another with an odd little 
smile flickering on her face.) 
david. Put on your things, Maggie, and 
we '11 leave his house. 

maggie (patting his kind head). Not me, 
David. 

(This is a maggie they have known but 
forgotten; all three brighten.) 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 123 

david. You haven't given in ! 

(The smile flickers and expires.) 

maggie. I want you all to go upstairs, and 
let me have my try now. 

james. Your try ? 

alick. Maggie, you put new life into me. 

james. And into me. 

(david says nothing; the way he grips her 
shoulder says it for him.) 

maggie. I '11 save him, David, if I can. 

david. Does he deserve to be saved after the 
way he has treated you? 

maggie. You stupid David. What has that 
to do with it. 

(When they have gone, john comes to the 
door of the dining-room. There is welling 
up in him a great pity for maggie, but 
it has to subside a little when he sees that 
the knitting is still in her hand. No man 
likes to be so soon supplanted, sybil 
follows, and the two of them gaze at the 
active needles.) 

maggie (perceiving that she has visitors). Come 
in, John. Sit down, Lady Sybil, and make 



124 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

yourself comfortable. I 'm afraid we 've put 
you about. 

(She is, after all, only a few years older 
than they and scarcely looks her age; yet 
it must have been in some such way 
as this that the little old woman who 
lived in a shoe addressed her numerous 
progeny.) 
john. I 'm mortal sorry, Maggie. 
sybil (who would be more courageous if she 
could hold his hand). And I also. 

maggie (soothingly). I 'm sure you are. But 
as it can't be helped I see no reason why we 
three shouldn't talk the matter over in a 
practical way. 

(sybil looks doubtful, but john hangs on 
desperately to the word practical.) 
john. If you could understand, Maggie, what 
an inspiration she is to me and my work. 

sybil. Indeed, Mrs. Shand, I think of 
nothing else. 

maggie. That 's fine. That 's as it should be. 
sybil (talking too much). Mrs. Shand, I think 
you are very kind to take it so reasonably. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 125 

maggie. That 's the Scotch way. When 
were you thinking of leaving me, John? 

{Perhaps this is the Scotch way also; 

but sybil is English, and from the 

manner in which she starts you would 

say that something has fallen on her 

toes.) 

john {who has heard nothing fall). I think, 

now that it has come to a breach, the 

sooner the better. {His tone becomes that 

of james when asked after the health of his 

wife.) So long as it is convenient to you, 

Maggie. 

maggie {making a rapid calculation). It 
couldn't well be before Wednesday. That 's 
the day the laundry comes home. 

(sybil has to draw in her toes again.) 
john. And it *s the day the House rises. 
{Stifling a groan.) It may be my last appearance 
in the House. 

sybil {her arms yearning for him). No, no, 
please don't say that. 

maggie {surveying them sympathetically). You 
love the House, don't you, John, next to her? 



126 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

It 's a pity you can't wait till after your speech 
at Leeds. Mr. Venables won't let you speak at 
Leeds, I fear, if you leave me. 

john. What a chance it would have been. 
But let it go. 

maggie. The meeting is in less than a month. 
Could you not make it such a speech that they 
would be very loth to lose you ? 

john (swelling). That 's what was in my mind. 

sybil (with noble confidence). And he could 
have done it. 

maggie. Then we 've come to something 
practical. 

john (exercising his imagination with powerful 
effect). No, it wouldn't be fair to you if I was 
to stay on now. 

maggie. Do you think I '11 let myself be con- 
sidered when your career is at stake. A month 
will soon pass for me; I '11 have a lot of packing 
to do. 

john. It 's noble of you, but I don't deserve 
it, and I can't take it from you. 

maggie. Now 's the time, Lady Sybil, for you 
to have one of your inspiring ideas. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 127 

sybil {ever ready). Yes, yes — but what? 
(It is odd that they should both turn to 
maggie at this moment.) 

maggie (who has already been saying it to 
herself). What do you think of this: I can stay 
on here with my father and brothers; and you, 
John, can go away somewhere and devote your- 
self to your speech? 

sybil. Yes. 

john. That might be. (Considerately.) Away 
from both of you. Where could I go ? 

sybil (ever ready). Where? 

maggie. I know. 

(She has called up a number on the telephone 
before they have time to check her.) 

john (on his dignity). Don't be in such a 
hurry, Maggie. 

maggie. Is this Lamb's Hotel? Put me on 
to the Comtesse de la Briere, please. 

sybil (with a sinking). What do you want 
with Auntie ? 

maggie. Her cottage in the country would 
be the very place. She invited John and me. 

john. Yes, but — 



128 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie {arguing). And Mr. Venables is to be 
there. Think of the impression you could make 
on him, seeing him daily for three weeks. 

john. There 's something in that. 

maggie. Is it you, Comtesse ? I 'm Maggie 
Shand. 

sybil. You are not to tell her that — ? 

maggie. No. {To the comtesse.) Oh, I 'm 
very well, never was better. Yes, yes; you 
see I can't, because my folk have never been 
in London before, and I must take them about 
and show them the sights. But John could 
come to you alone; why not? 

john {with proper pride). If she 's not keen 
to have me, I won't go. 

maggie. She 's very keen. Comtesse, I could 
come for a day by and by to see how you are 
getting on. Yes — yes — certainly. {To john.) 
She says she '11 be delighted. 

john {thoughtfully). You 're not doing this, 
Maggie, thinking that my being absent from 
Sybil for a few weeks can make any difference ? 
Of course it 's natural you should want us to 
keep apart, but — 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 129 

maggie {grimly.) I 'm founding no Tiope on 
keeping you apart, John. 

john. It 's what other wives would do. 

maggie. I promised to be different. 

john {his position as a strong man assured). 
Then tell her I accept. {He wanders back into 
the dining-room.) 

sybil. I think — {she is not sure what she 
thinks) — I think you are very wonderful. 

maggie. Was that John calling to you? 

sybil. Was it ? {She is glad to join him in the 
dining-room.) 

maggie. Comtesse, hold the line a minute — 
{She is alone, and she has nearly reached the end 
of her self-control. She shakes emotionally and 
utters painful little cries; there is something she 
wants to do, and she is loth to do it But she 
does it.) Are you there, Comtesse ? There 's 
one other thing, dear Comtesse; I want you to 
invite Lady Sybil also; yes, for the whole time 
that John is there. No, I 'm not mad; as a 
great favour to me; yes, I have a very par- 
ticular reason, but I won't tell you what it is; 
oh, call me Scotchy as much as you like, but 



130 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

consent; do, do, do. Thank you, thank you, 
good-bye. 

(She has control of herself now, and is deter- 
mined not to let it slip from her again. When 
they reappear the stubborn one is writing a 
letter.) 

john. I thought I heard the telephone 
again. 

maggie (looking up from her labours). It was 
the Comtesse; she says she's to invite Lady 
Sybil to the cottage at the same time. 

sybil. Me ! 

john. To invite Sybil? Then of course I 
won't go, Maggie. 

maggie (wondering seemingly at these niceties.) 
What does it matter? Is anything to be 
considered except the speech? (It has been 
admitted that she was a little devil.) And, with 
Sybil on the spot, John, to help you and inspire 
you, what a speech it will be ! 

john (carried away). Maggie, you really are 
a very generous woman. 

sybil (convinced at last). She is indeed. 

john. And you 're queer too. How many 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 131 

women in the circumstances would sit down to 
write a letter. 

maggie. It 's a letter to you, John. 

john. To me ? 

maggie. I '11 give it to you when it 's 
finished, but I ask you not to open it till your 
visit to the Comtesse ends. 

john. What is it about ? 

maggie. It 's practical. 

sybil {rather faintly). Practical? {She has 
heard the word so frequently to-day that it i# 
beginning to have a Scotch sound. She feels she 
ought to like maggie, but that she would like her 
better if they were farther apart. She indicates 
that the doctors are troubled about her heart, and 
murmuring her adieux she goes, john, who is 
accompanying her, pauses at the door.) 

john {with a queer sort of admiration for his 
wife). Maggie, I wish I was fond of you. 

maggie {heartily). I wish you were, John. 
{He goes, and she resumes her letter. The 
stocking is lying at hand, and she pushes 
it to the floor. She is done for a time with 
knitting.) 



IV 



Man's greatest invention is the lawn-mower. All 
the birds know this, and that is why, when it is at 
rest, there is always at least one of them sitting on 
the handle with his head cocked, wondering how the 
delicious whirring sound is made. When they find 
out, they will change their note. As it is, you must 
sometimes have thought that you heard the mower 
very early in the morning, and perhaps you peeped in 
neglige from your lattice window to see who was up 
so early. It was really the birds trying to get 
the note. 

On this broiling morning, however, we are at 
noon, and whoever looks will see that the whirring 
is done by Mr. V enables. He is in a linen suit with 
the coat discarded (the bird is sitting on it), and he 
comes and goes across the Comtesse's lawns, pleasantly 
mopping his face. We see him through a crooked 
bowed window generously open, roses intruding into 
it as if to prevent its ever being closed at night; there 
are other roses in such armfuls on the tables that 
132 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 133 

one could not easily say where the room ends and the 
garden begins. 

In the Comtesse's pretty comic drawing-room (for 
she likes the comic touch when she is in England) sits 
John Shand with his hostess, on chairs at a great 
distance from each other. No linen garments for 
John, nor flannels, nor even knickerbockers; he envies 
the English way of dressing for trees and lawns, but is 
too Scotch to be able to imitate it; he wears tweeds, just 
as he would do in his native country where they would 
be in kilts. Like many another Scot, the first time he 
ever saw a kilt was on a Sassenach; indeed kilts were 
only invented, like golf, to draw the English north. 
John is doing nothing, which again is not a Scotch 
accomplishment, and he looks rather miserable and 
dour. The Comtesse is already at her Patience cards, 
and occasionally she smiles on him as if not dis- 
pleased with his long silence. At last she speaks: 



'I feel it rather a shame to detain you here 
on such a lovely day, Mr. Shand, entertaining 
an old woman.' 

'I don't pretend to think I 'm entertaining 
you, Comtesse.' 



134 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'But you are, you know.' 

'I would be pleased to be told how?' 

(She shrugs her impertinent shoulders, and 
presently there is another heavy sigh from 

JOHN.) 

c Again! Why do not you go out on the 
river ? ' 

'Yes, I can do that.' (He rises.) 

'And take Sybil with you.' (He sits again.) 
'No?' 

'I have been on the river with her twenty 
times.' 

'Then take her for a long walk through the 
Fairloe woods.' 

'We were there twice last week.' 

'There is a romantically damp little arbour 
at the end of what the villagers call the Lovers' 
Lane.* 

'One can't go there every day. I see nothing 
to laugh at.' 

'Did I laugh? I must have been translating 
the situation into French.' 

(Perhaps the music of the lawn-mower is not 
to John's mood, for he betakes himself to 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 135 

another room. mr. venables pauses in 

his labours to greet a lady who has appeared 

on the lawn, and who is maggie. She is 

as neat as if she were one of tlie army of 

typists {who are quite the nicest hind of 

women), and carries a little bag. She comes 

in through the window, and puts her hands 

over the comtesse's eyes. The comtesse 

says: 

'They are a strong pair of hands, at any rate.' 

'And not very white 3 and biggish for my size. 

Now guess.' 

(The comtesse guesses, and takes both 
the hands in hers as if she valued them. 
She pulls off Maggie's hat as if to prevent 
her flying away.) 
'Dear abominable one, not to let me know 
you were coming.' 

'It is just a surprise visit, Comtesse. I 
walked up from the station.' (For a moment 
maggie seems to have borrowed sybil's impedi- 
ment.) How is — everybody ? ' 

'He is quite well. But, my child, he seems 
to me to be a most unhappy man.' 



136 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

{This sad news does not seem to make a 
most unhappy woman of the child. The 
comtesse is puzzled, as she knows nothing 
of the situation save what she has dis- 
covered for herself.) 
'Why should that please you, O heartless one ? ' 
'I won't tell you.' 

'I could take you and shake you, Maggie. 
Here have I put my house at your disposal for 
so many days for some sly Scotch purpose, and 
you will not tell me what it is.' 
'No.' 

'Very well then, but I have what you call a 
nasty one for you. (The comtesse lures MR. 
venables into the room by holding up what 
might be a foaming glass of lemon squash.) 
Alas, Charles, it is but a flower vase. I want 
you to tell Mrs. Shand what you think of her 
husband's speech.' 

(mr. venables gives his hostess a reproach- 
ful look.) 
, 'Eh — ah — Shand will prefer to do that him- 
self. I promised the gardener — I must not 
disappoint him — excuse me — ' 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 137 

'You must tell her, Charles.' 

'Please, Mr. Venables, I should like to know.' 
{He sits down with a sigh and obeys.) 

'Your husband has been writing the speech 
here, and by his own wish he read it to me 
three days ago. The occasion is to be an im- 
portant one; and, well, there are a dozen young 
men in the party at present, all capable of filling 
a certain small ministerial post. {He looks long- 
ingly at the mower, but it sends no message to his 
aid.) And as he is one of them I was anxious that 
he should show in this speech of what he is capable. 

'And hasn't he?' 

{Not for the first time mr. venables wishes 
that he* was not in politics.) 

'I am afraid he has.' 

'What is wrong with the speech, Charles?' 

'Nothing — and he can still deliver it. It 
is a powerful, well-thought-out piece of work, 
such as only a very able man could produce. 
But it has no special quality of its own — 
none of the little touches that used to make an 
old stager like myself want to pat Shand on the 
shoulder. {The comtesse's mouth twitches, but 



138 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie declines to notice it.) He pounds on 
manfully enough, but, if I may say so, with a 
wooden leg. It is as good, I dare say, as the rest 
of them could have done; but they start with 
such inherited advantages, Mrs. Shand, that 
he had to do better.' 

' Yes, I can understand that/ 

'I am sorry, Mrs. Shand, for he interested me. 
His career has set me wondering whether if 
I had begun as a railway porter I might not 
still be calling out, "By your leave." ' 

(maggie thinks it probable but not impor- 
tant.) 

'Mr. Venables, now that I think of it, surely 

John wrote to me that you were dissatisfied with 

his first speech, and that he was writing another. 

(The comtesse's eyes open very wide indeed.) 

'I have heard nothing of that, Mrs. Shand. 
(venables shakes his wise head.) And in any 
case, I am afraid — ' (He still hears the wooden 
leg.) 

'But you said yourself that his second 
thoughts were sometimes such an improve- 
ment on the first.' 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 139 

(The comtesse comes to the help of the 
baggage.) 
C I remember your saying that, Charles. 5 
'Yes, that has struck me. (Politely) Well, if 
he has anything to show me — In the mean 
time — ' 

(He regains the lawn, like one glad to escape 
attendance at John's obsequies. The 
comtesse is brought back to speech by the 
sound of the mower — nothing wooden in it.) 
'What are you up to now, Miss Pin? You 
know as well as I do that there is no such speech. 3 
(maggie's mouth tightens.) 
'I do not.' 
'It is a duel, is it, my friend?' 

(The comtesse rings the bell and Maggie's 
guilty mind is agitated.) 
'W^hat are you ringing for?' 
'As the challenged one, Miss Pin, I have the 
choice of weapons. I am going to send for your 
husband to ask him if he has written such a 
speech. After which, I suppose, you will ask me 
to leave you while you and he write it together.' 
(maggie wrings her hands.) 



140 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

'You are wrong, Comtesse; but please don't 
do that.' 

'You but make me more curious, and my 
doctor says that I must be told everything. 
(The comtesse assumes the pose of her sex in 
melodrama.) Put your cards on the table, 
Maggie Shand, or — (she indicates that she always 
pinks her man. maggie dolefully produces a roll 
of paper from her bag.) What precisely is that ? ' 
(The reply is little more than a squeak.) 
'John's speech.' 
'You have written it yourself!' 

(maggie is naturally indignant.) 
'It 's typed.' 

'You guessed that the speech he wrote 
unaided would not satisfy, and you prepared 
this to take its place ! ' 

'Not at all, Comtesse. It is the draft of his 
speech that he left at home. That 's all.' 

'With a few trivial alterations by yourself, I 
swear. Can you deny it ? ' 

(No wonder that maggie is outraged. She 
replaces John's speech in the bag with 
becoming hauteur.) 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 141 

'Comtesse, these insinuations are unworthy of 
you. May I ask where is my husband?' 
{The comtesse drops her a curtsy,) 
*I believe your Haughtiness may find him 
in the Dutch garden. Oh, I see through you. 
You are not to show him your speech. But 
you are to get him to write another one, and 
somehow all your additions will be in it. 
Think not, creature, that you can deceive one 
so old in iniquity as the Comtesse de la Briere.' 
(There can be but one reply from a good 
wife to such a charge, and at once the 
comtesse is left alone with her shame. 
Anon a footman appears. You know how 
they come and go.) 
'You rang, my lady?' 

'Did I? Ah, yes, but why? (He is but 
lately from the ploughshare and cannot help 
her. In this quandary her eyes alight upon 
the bag. She is unfortunately too abandoned to 
feel her shame: she still thinks that she has the 
choice of weapons. She takes the speech from the 
bag and bestows it on her servitor.) Take this 
to Mr. Venables, please, and say it is from 



142 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

Mr. Shand. (thomas — but in the end we shall 
probably call him john — departs with the little 
explosive; and when maggie returns she finds that 
the comtesse is once more engaged on her inter- 
rupted game of Patience.) You did not find him ? ' 
(All the bravery has dropped from Maggie's 
face.) 
'I didn't see him, but I heard him. She is 
with him. I think they are coming here.' 
(The comtesse is suddenly kind again.) 
' Sybil ? Shall I get rid of her ? ' 
'No, I want her to be here, too. Now I 
shall know.' 

(The comtesse twists the little thing 
round.) 
'Know what?* 

'As soon as I look into his face I shall know. 5 
(A delicious scent ushers in the fair sybil, 
who is as sweet as a milking stool. She 
greets mrs. shand with some alarm.) 
maggie. How do you do, Lady Sybil ? How 
pretty you look in that frock, (sybil rustles 
uncomfortably.) You are a feast to the eye. 
sybil. Please, I wish you would not. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 143 

(Shall we describe sybil's frock, in which 
she looks like a great strawberry that 
knows it ought to be plucked; or would 
it be easier to watch the coming of john ? 
Let us watch john.) 
john. You, Maggie ! You never wrote that 
you were coming. 

(No, let us watch maggie. As soon as 

she looked into his face she was to know 

something of importance.) 

maggie (not dissatisfied with what she sees). 

No, John, it 's a surprise visit. I just ran 

down to say good-bye. 

(At this his face falls, which does not seem 
to pain her.) 
sybil (foreseeing another horrible Scotch scene). 
To say good-bye ? 

comtesse (thrilling with expectation). To 
whom, Maggie? 

sybil (deserted by the impediment, which is 
probably playing with rough boys in the Lovers 9 
Lane). Auntie, do leave us, won't you? 

comtesse. Not I. It is becoming far too 
interesting. 



144 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie. I suppose there 's no reason the 
Comtesse shouldn't be told, as she will know so 
soon at any rate? 

john. That 's so. (sybil sees with a sink- 
ing that he is to be practical also.) 

maggie. It 's so simple. You see, Com- 
tesse, John and Lady Sybil have fallen in love 
with one another, and they are to go off as 
soon as the meeting at Leeds has taken 
place. 

{The comtesse's breast is too suddenly 
introduced to Caledonia and its varied 
charms.) 

comtesse. Mon Dieu ! 

maggie. I think that 's putting it correctly, 
John. 

john. In a sense. But I 'm not to attend 
the meeting at Leeds. My speech doesn't find 
favour. (With a strange humility) There 's 
something wrong with it. 

comtesse. I never expected to hear you 
say that, Mr. Shand. 

john (wondering also). I never expected it 
myself. I meant to make it the speech of my 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 145 

career. But somehow my hand seems to have 
lost its cunning. 

comtesse. And you don't know how? 

john. It 's inexplicable. My brain was never 
clearer. 

comtesse. You might have helped him, 
Sybil. 

sybil {quite sulkily). I did. 

comtesse. But I thought she was such an 
inspiration to you, Mr. Shand. 

john {going bravely to sybil's side). She slaved 
at it with me. 

comtesse. Strange. {Wickedly becoming 
practical also.) So now there is nothing to 
detain you. Shall I send for a fly, Sybil ? 

sybil {with a cry of the heart). Auntie, do 
leave us. 

comtesse. I can understand your im- 
patience to be gone, Mr. Shand. 

john {heavily). I promised Maggie to wait 
till the 24th, and I 'm a man of my word. 

maggie. But I give you back your word, 
John. You can go now. 

(john looks at sybil, and sybil looks at 



146 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

john, and the impediment arrives in time 
to take a peep at both of them.) 

sybil (groping for the practical, to which we 
must all come in the end). He must make satis- 
factory arrangements about you first. I insist 
on that. 

maggie (with no more imagination than a hen). 
Thank you, Lady Sybil, but I have made all my 
arrangements. 

john (stung). Maggie, that was my part. 

maggie (the hens are saying it all the time). 
You see, my brothers feel they can't be away 
from their business any longer; and so, if it 
would be convenient to you, John, I could 
travel north with them by the night train on 
Wednesday. 

sybil. I — I — . The way you put things — ! 

john. This is just the 21st. 

maggie. My things are all packed. I think 
you '11 find the house in good order, Lady 
Sybil. I have had the vacuum cleaners in. 
I '11 give you the keys of the linen and the silver 
plate; I have them in that bag. The carpet on 
the upper landing is a good deal frayed, but — 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 147 

sybil. Please, I don't want to hear any more. 

maggie. The ceiling of the dining-room 
would be the better of a new lick of paint — 

sybil {stamping her foot, small fours) . Can't 
you stop her? 

john {soothingly). She 's meaning well. 
Maggie, I know it 's natural to you to value 
those things, because your outlook on life is 
bounded by them; but all this jars on me. 

maggie. Does it ? 

john. Why should you be so ready to go ? 

maggie. I promised not to stand in your way. 

john {stoutly). You needn't be in such a 
hurry. There are three days to run yet. {The 
French are so different from us that we shall 
probably never be able to understand why the 
comtesse laughed aloud here.) It 's just a joke 
to the Comtesse. 

comtesse. It seems to be no joke to you, 
Mr. Shand. Sybil, my pet, are you to let him off ? 

sybil {flashing). Let him off? If he wishes 
it. Do you ? 

john {manfully). I want it to go on. {Some- 
thing seems to have caught in his throat: perhaps it 



148 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

is the impediment trying a temporary home.) It 's 
the one wish of my heart. If you come with me, 
Sybil, I '11 do all in a man's power to make you 
never regret it. 

(Triumph of the Vere de Veres.) 

maggie (bringing them back to earth with a 
dump). And I can make my arrangements for 
Wednesday ? 

sybil (seeking the comtesse's protection). 
No, you can't. Auntie, I am not going on with 
this. I 'm very sorry for you, John, but I see 
now — I couldn't face it — 

(She canH face anything at this moment 
except the sofa pillows.) 

comtesse (noticing John's big sigh of relief). 
So that is all right, Mr. Shand ! 

maggie. Don't you love her any more, 
John ? Be practical. 

sybil (to the pillows). At any rate I have 
tired of him. Oh, best to tell the horrid truth. 
I am ashamed of myself. I have been crying 
my eyes out over it — I thought I was such a 
different kind of woman. But I am weary of 
him. I think him — oh, so dull. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 149 

john {his face lighting up). Are you sure that 
is how you have come to think of me? 

sybil. I 'm sorry; (With all her soul) but 
yes — yes — yes. 

john. By God, it 's more than I deserve. 

comtesse. Congratulations to you both. 
(sybil runs away; and in the fulness of 
time she married successfully in Cloth of 
Silver, which was afterwards turned into 
a bed-spread.) 

maggie. You haven't read my letter yet, 
John, have you? 

JOHN. No. 

comtesse (imploringly). May I know to 
what darling letter you refer? 

maggie. It 's a letter I wrote to him before 
he left London. I g&ve it to him closed, not 
to be opened until his time here was ended. 

john (as his hand strays to his pocket). Am I 
to read it now? 

maggie. Not before her. Please go away, 
Comtesse. 

comtesse. Every word you say makes me 
more determined to remain. 



150 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie. It will hurt you. {Distressed.) Don't 
read it, John; tear it up. 

john. You make me very curious, Maggie. 
And yet I don't see what can be in it. 

comtesse. But you feel a little nervous? 
Give me the dagger. 

maggie {quickly). No. {But the comtesse 
has already got it.) 

comtesse. May I? {She must have thought 
they said Yes, for she opens the letter. She shares 
its contents with them.) ' Dearest John, It is at my 
request that the Comtesse is having Lady Sybil 
at the cottage at the same time as yourself.' 

john. What ? 

comtesse. Yes, she begged me to invite you 
together. 

john. But why ? 

maggie. I promised you not to behave as 
other wives would do. 

john. It 's not understandable. 

comtesse. 'You may ask why I do this, 
John, and my reason is, I think that after a few 
weeks of Lady Sybil, every day, and all day, 
you will become sick to death of her. I am also 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 151 

giving her the chance to help you and inspire 
you with your work, so that you may both 
learn what her help and her inspiration amount 
to. Of course, if your love is the great strong 
passion you think it, then those weeks will 
make you love her more than ever and I can only 
say good-bye. But if, as I suspect, you don't 
even now know what true love is, then by the 
next time we meet, dear John, you will have had 
enough of her. — Your affectionate wife, Maggie.' 
Oh, why was not Sybil present at the reading 
of the will ! And now, if you two will kindly 
excuse me, I think I must go and get that 
poor sufferer the eau de Cologne. 

john. It 's almost enough to make a man 
lose faith in himself. 

comtesse. Oh, don't say that, Mr. Shand. 

maggie {defending him). You mustn't hurt 
him. If you haven't loved deep and true, that 's 
just because you have never met a woman yet, 
John, capable of inspiring it. 

comtesse (putting her hand on Maggie's 
shoulder). Have you not, Mr. Shand? 

john. I see what you mean. But Maggie 



152 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

wouldn't think better of me for any false pre- 
tences. She knows my feelings for her now are 
neither more nor less than what they have always 
been. 

maggie (who sees that he is looking at her as 
solemnly as a volume of sermons printed by 
request). I think no one could be fond of me 
that can't laugh a little at me. 

john. How could that help ? 

comtesse (exasperated). Mr. Shand, I give 
you up. 

maggie. I admire his honesty. 

comtesse. Oh, I give you up also. Arcades 
ambo. Scotchies both. 

john (when she has gone). But this letter, 
it 's not like you. By Gosh, Maggie, you 're no 
fool. 

(She beams at this, as any wife would.) 

But how could I have made such a mistake ? 
It 's not like a strong man. (Evidently he has 
an inspiration.) 

maggie. What is it? 

john (the inspiration). Am I a strong man? 

maggie. You? Of course you are. And 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 153 

self made. Has anybody ever helped you in the 
smallest way ? 

john (thinking it out again). No, nobody. 

maggie. Not even Lady Sybil? 

john. I 'm beginning to doubt it. It 's very 
curious, though, Maggie, that this speech should 
be disappointing. 

maggie. It 's just that Mr. Venables hasn't 
the brains to see how good it is. 

john. That must be it. (But he is too good 
a man to rest satisfied with this.) No, Maggie, 
it 's not. Somehow I seem to have lost my neat 
way of saying things. 

maggie (almost cooing). It will come back to 
you. 

john (forlorn). If you knew how I Ve tried. 

maggie (cautiously). Maybe if you were to try 
again; and I '11 just come and sit beside you, 
and knit. I think the click of the needles 
sometimes put you in the mood. 

john. Hardly that; and yet many a 
Shandism have I knocked off while you were 
sitting beside me knitting. I suppose it was the 
quietness. 



154 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie. Very likely. 

john {with another inspiration). Maggie! 

maggie {again). What is it, John? 

john. Wnat if it was you that put those 
queer ideas into my head ! 

maggie. Me ? 

john. Without your knowing it, I mean. 

maggie. But how ? 

john. We used to talk bits over; and it 
may be that you dropped the seed, so to speak. 

maggie. John, could it be this, that I 
sometimes had the idea in a rough womanish 
sort of way and then you polished it up till it 
came out a Shandism ? 

john {slowly slapping his knee). I believe 
you 've hit it, Maggie: to think that you may 
have been helping me all the time — and neither 
of us knew it. 

{He has so nearly reached a smile that no 
one can say what might have happened 
within the next moment if the comtesse 
had not reappeared.) 

comtesse. Mr. Venables wishes to see you, 
Mr. Shand. 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 155 

john (lost, stolen, or strayed a smile in the 
making). Hum. 

comtesse. He is coming now. 

john (grumpy). Indeed. 

comtesse (sweetly). It is about your speech. 

john. He has said all he need say on that 
subject, and more. 

comtesse (quaking a little). I think it is about 
the second speech. 

john. What second speech? 

(maggie runs to her bag and opens it.) 

maggie (horrified). Comtesse, you have given 
it to him. 

comtesse (impudently). Wasn't I meant to? 

john. What is it? What second speech? 

maggie. Cruel, cruel. (Willing to go on her 
knees.) You had left* the first draft of your 
speech at home, John, and I brought it here with 
— with a few little things I 've added myself. 

john (a seven-footer) . WThat 's that ? 

maggie (four foot ten at most). Just trifles — 
things I was to suggest to you — while I was 
knitting — and then, if you liked any of them 
you could have polished them — and turned them 



156 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

into something good. John, John — and now 
she has shown it to Mr. Venables. 

john (thundering). As my work, Comtesse? 
{But the comtesse is not of the women 
who are afraid of thunder.) 

maggie. It is your work — nine-tenths of it. 

john (in the black cap). You presumed, 
Maggie Shand ! Very well, then, here he comes, 
and now we '11 see to what extent you 've 
helped me. 

venables. My dear fellow. My dear Shand, 
I congratulate you. Give me your hand. 

john. The speech ? 

venables. You have improved it out of 
knowledge. It is the same speech, but those 
new touches make all the difference, (john 
sits down heavily.) Mrs. Shand, be proud of him. 

maggie. I am. I am, John. 

comtesse. You always said that his second 
thoughts were best, Charles. 

venables (pleased to be reminded of it). 
Didn't I? didn't I? Those delicious little 
touches ! How good that is, Shand, about the 
flowing tide. 

comtesse. The flowing tide ? 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 157 

venables. In the first speech it was some- 
thing like this — * Gentlemen, the Opposition are 
calling to you to vote for them and the flowing 
tide, but I solemnly warn you to beware" 1 lest 
the flowing tide does not engulf you.' The 
second way is much better. 

comtesse. What is the second way, Mr. 
Shand ? 

(john does not tell her.) 

venables. This is how he puts it now. (john 
cannot help raising his head to listen.) 'Gentle- 
men, the Opposition are calling to you to vote for 
them and the flowing tide, but I ask you cheer- 
fully to vote for us and dam the flowing tide.' 
(venables and his old friend the comtesse 
laugh heartily, but for different reasons.) 

comtesse. It is better, Mr. Shand. 

Maggie. I don't think so. 

venables. Yes, yes, it 's so virile. Excuse 
me, Comtesse, I 'm off to read the whole thing 
again. (For the first time he notices that john 
is strangely quiet.) I think this has rather 
bowled you over, Shand. 

(john's head sinks lower.) 

Well, well, good news doesn't kill. 



158 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

maggie {counsel for the defence). Surely the 
important thing about the speech is its strength 
and knowledge and eloquence, the things that 
were in the first speech as well as in the second. 
venables. That of course is largely true. 
The wit would not be enough without them, 
just as they were not enough without the wit. 
It is the combination that is irresistible. ( John's 
head rises a little.) Shand, you are our man, 
remember that, it is emphatically the best 
thing you have ever done. How this will go 
down at Leeds. 

{He returns gaily to his hammock; but 
lower sinks John's head, and even the 
comtesse has the grace to take herself off. 
Maggie's arms flutter near her husband, not 
daring to alight.) 
'You heard what he said, John. It 's the com- 
bination. Is it so terrible to you to find that 
my love for you had made me able to help you 
in the little things ? ' 

'The little things ! It seems strange to me 
to hear you call me by my name, Maggie. It 's 
as if I looked on you for the first time.' 



WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 159 

'Look at me, John, for the first time. What 
do you see ? ' 

'I see a woman who has brought her husband 
low.' 

'Only that?' 

*I see the tragedy of a man who has found 
himself out. Eh, I can't live with you again, 
Maggie.' 

(He shivers.) 

'Why did you shiver, John?* 

'It was at myself for saying that I couldn't 
live with you again, when I should have been 
wondering how for so long you have lived with 
me. And I suppose you have forgiven me all 
the time. (She nods.) And forgive me still? 
(She nods again.) Dear God ! '' 

'John, am I to go? or are you to keep me 
on ? (She is now a little bundle near his feet.) 
I 'm willing to stay because I 'm useful to 
you, if it can't be for a better reason. (His 
hand feels for her, and the bundle wriggles nearer.) 
It 's nothing unusual I 've done, John. Every 
man who is high up loves to think that he has 
done it all himself; and the wife smiles, and 



160 WHAT EVERY WOMAN KNOWS 

lets it go at that. It 's our only joke. Every 
woman knows that. {He stares at her in hope- 
less 'perplexity.) Oh, John, if only you could 
laugh at me.' 

'I can't laugh, Maggie.' 

{But as he continues to stare at her a strange 
disorder appears in his face. Maggie 
feels that it is to be now or never.) 
'Laugh, John, laugh. Watch me; see how 
easy it is/ 

{A terrible struggle is taking place within 
him. He creaks. Something that may 
be mirth forces a passage, at first pain- 
fully, no more joy in it than in the dis- 
coloured water from a spring that has long 
been dry. Soon, however, he laughs loud and 
long. The spring water is becoming clear. 
maggie claps her hands. He is saved.) 

THE END 



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